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THE 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN 



AND THE 



RISE AND PROGRESS OF PHILOSOPHY. 



A SERIES OF LECTURES DELIVERED BY 

ALEXANDER KINMONT, A.M. 



Philosophije autem objectum triplex, Deus, natura, homo. — Bacon. 

Homo esset, per quern Deua transeat in naturam, seu per quern natura possit ascen- 
dere ad Deum. 

Perfectio naturse dependet a perfectione hominis ; Deus enim naturse stator non aliter 
mundum disponit, quam quale est medium seu homo, per quem cum mundo commu- 

nicat. — SWEDENBORG. 



PHILADELPHIA: 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 
189 1. 






a 



Printed by J. B. Lippincott Company, Philadelphia. 






LC Control Niomber 




tinp96 026350 



PREFACE. 



It may appear strange that so long a time (about fifty 
years) has passed since the first appearance of the lectures 
comprised in this volume, and that a second edition should 
only now be brought out. It may be explained in part 
that the first edition was published by subscription of those 
who heard the lectures delivered, and so the volumes passed 
into private libraries and were not put into circulation 
through booksellers ; the present publication is called for 
by former pupils and devoted admirers of Mr. Kinmont, 
who desire to preserve this monument of his genius which 
he himself created. 

The rapid movements of the world in all departments 
of thought, the changes of opinion and sentiment in 
doctrinal theology and in philosophy, have not distanced 
nor superseded the ideas herein presented ; they belong to 
the present generation as much as to the past. Founded 
upon experience and observation of the facts of history, 
they were illumined by principles and truths which flowed 
from his inner consciousness, and in themselves are eternal. 

The lectures were prefaced by an extempore exordium 
of nearly an hour, which seemed to be the resume of all 
the thoughts which flowed into his mind during the prep- 
aration of the lectures, of which the written lecture was 
but the condensation. 



4 PREFACE. 

Mr. Kinmont was a born orator ; with his grand voice, 
touched by some Scotch accent, his emphatic gestures, and 
rapid delivery, he could hold large audiences spell-bound 
by his fervid eloquence, especially when questions dis- 
cussed were those near his heart. It was principally on 
educational subjects that he spoke in public. 

An unknown writer in the Brother Jonathan, of New 
York, met with the book while travelling in the West, 
and in a lengthy review regards it as one of the best books 
of the age ; " that it will set men right on some moot 
subjects of the day, and throw more light upon the nature 
and end of man's being than any work of the century. 
He is just the writer that is needed in our day of daring 
speculation, and we venture to predict that he will exert 
an influence on the energetic and truth-seeking minds of 
America, as Coleridge did among his contemporaries." 

A later reviewer, Mr. Eby, says, "I have read and 
re-read this volume of singular merit with unequivocal 
satisfaction. It seems to me to be one of the best 
prophecies of what will be the literature of the new age. 
It is equally removed from the controversial whine and 
the pietistic drool, and expresses frank homage to the 
truth for its own sake. The book is reverent. It is redo- 
lent of genuine manly devotion to the good and the true." 

With these comments we leave the " Lectures" to the 
judgment of its readers. W. H. 

Cincinnati, September 1, 1891. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR ,,,..,., 13 

LECTUKE I. 

3IAN CONSIDERED AS A UNIT. 

Design of these Lectures — "Uses and objects of Anthropology — 
Just ideas impeded by partial and disconnected views, and dis- 
cussions of the notional man of Philosophy and not the Idea of 
the Divine Mind — Man to be studied in his Mind, his Body, 
and his Actions, the Human Trinity — General view of him in 
ih^ person of his History or Forthgoing — His Body, and thence 
his Mind — 'Traces of the character of the Inward Man upon its 
type^ the body, not to be disregarded — Natural impression of 
oneness^ as to the organization of the Body — Reasoning un- 
aided by experience, utterly incapable of ascertaining its com- 
plex organization — Bacon's first aphorism illustrated — Whence 
does that method of observation and induction become necessary 
to us? — Propriety of conjecture here with certain restrictions — 
Passage from the Scientific to the Mystical — Application — ■ 
Probable adaptation of the Nature within and without us — ■ 
Hence, Nature is primarily epitomized on the Soul of Man : and 
the laws impressed upon it a prion are, subsequent to birth, 
inculcated in a reverse method, a posteriorihus ad priora — Use 
of Theory — Presentation of a theory on this subject from a 
Latin work of the last century — Ancient mythus — Reflections 
suggested thereby — Formation of rational Ideas— Conclusion , 29 

LECTUEE II. 

LIMITS AND ORDERS OF NATURE. 

The operations of the Deity, in nature, are graduated and pro- 
gressive ; hence our ability to apprehend them — Gradation 
observed in the progress of the human mind : sense, fancy, 

5 



6 CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

imagination, reason — Summary of preceding lecture— Ideas 
suggested to the ancients by the observation of the visible uni- 
verse — Some philosophers, from a general resemblance, have 
classed Man with animals; others have considered animals 
machines — Scientific analyses are but indications of things, 
not the things — Limits sacred in nature — No combination of 
mechanical or chemical agencies constitute animal action — 
Supremacy of the animal over these — Eeview — That as 
animals, by virtue of the laws of animal life, are distinguished 
from the lower departments of nature, so Man, by reason of 
human laws, should constitute a separate order — Enumeration 
of the progressive orders in nature — That when any of the 
lower orders are assumed by a higher, they become identified 
with it; thus, whatever of the animal or organical there is in 
Man, is eminently human : all is Man — Further illustration — 
Supremacy of the human obviously marked in the body, espe- 
cially the hand, the lungs, and the mouth— Conclusion ... 49 

LECTUEE III. 

language: its origin and use. 

The material universe is to us the fountain of all knowledge of the 
physical reasons of the laws employed in its economy — That of 
these as yet but little is known — Illustrated in the intricacy of 
the structure of the human body, which before it can be under- 
stood, a totally new and original science must be extricated from 
nature — The same is true of the divine moral system — The dis- 
closure of physical and moral truth proportioned to the practice 
of our present knowledge — Individual elFort never lost ; lan- 
guage the chief medium of its perpetuation — The physical 
instruments of language, — the lungs ; their uses, the primary 
end of nature in their construction, traced from their rudimental 
form in fishes — The question. Is speech natural or acquired ? 
considered — God is the author of human speech — There is but 
one language, but a diversity of dialects — Illustration — Specu- 
lations concerning an original language entirely vain — The 
unity of language is from the fraternity of the human race, — 
its variety the consequence and symbol of human freedom ; the 
tendency to variety checked by the faculty of imitation — True 
value of the scriptural idea of the unity of speech — Modifica- 



CONTENTS. 7 

PAGE 

tions, how produced — Articulation an intellectual process — The 
perfection of antediluvian speech was in the unanimity of the 
moral feelings ; the discordance of modern languages arises 
from the obscuration of themo7'a^ sense — Mysterious connection 
of language and thought — Language the chief instrument in 
the formation of the moral and intellectual sense — Its dignity 
and uses 71 



LECTUEE lY. 

ST. AUGUSTINE AND BARON CUVIER ; OR, THE MEETING OF THE 
FIFTH AND NINETEENTH CENTURIES. 

Summary of preceding lecture — Necessity of viewing man from 
different epochs of history ; his language and actions the only 
true criteria in the determination of his character — The fifth 
and nineteenth centuries contrasted in the persons of St. Au- 
gustine and Baron Cuvier; their characters and labors — Value 
of the study of the writings of the fifth century — Translation 
from the " City of God" — Picture of St. Augustine — The re- 
flection interesting, that each age contributes its peculiar 
mental commodity to the meeting of ages in the spiritual 
world, where it is not unphilosophical to suppose that Augus- 
tine and Cuvier may have held converse — Their imagined 
meeting and dialogue, exhibiting the exclusiveness which 
marked the pursuits of their respective epochs — The theology 
of the fifth should combine with the science of the nineteenth 
century ; thus the Word of God would be illustrated by his 
works o . . . 95 



LECTUEE Y. 

PREDOMINANCE OF THE RELIGIOUS SENTIMENT IN THE EARLY 

AGES. 

The failure of all attempts by philosophers to define precisely 
the Christian religion a proof of its divine origin — In the 
progress of nations the religious faculties are first developed — 
In this state of the human mind only, could a revelation of the 
Deity have been made — Hence in the writings and monuments 
of early ages the religious idea predominates over the scientific 



8 CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

— It is an error of modern times that they seek science even in 
the sacred Scriptures — A fabled representation of a tablet, with 
concentric zones, within which the animal kingdom is classified, 
the human form embossing the whole ; designed to show that 
the animal creation reflects and tj'-pifies the attributes and affec- 
tions of man, a fact distinctly felt by the earlier ages — These, 
through their arts of emblematizing their ideas of God, fell into 
idolatry ; so modern times, through scientific definitions, are in 
danger of obscuring the true import of divine revelation . . . 118 

LECTUEE YI. 

ANCIENT RELIGION AND MODERN SCIENCE. 

Further illustration of the subject of the last lecture — The de- 
velopment of the religious feelings necessary to unite mankind, 
before science could benefit them — That man might know that 
creation was a divine act, the synopsis only of the event was 
declared — To the earliest ages the theology of creation, to 
modern times the science, is revealed — Distinction of religion 
and science — the evil of their admixture — the twelve apostles 
of Christianity an instance of theology unmixed with science — 
St. Peter — In the mind of St. Paul philosophy and religion 
were united — General conclusions attained — Pacts in illustra- 
tion — The Iliad and Odyssey of Homer illustrative of the pre- 
dominance of theology in early ages — The Persians, as described 
by Herodotus — Nations who have received a scientific bent 
despise the religious simplicity of early ages — The contempt of 
the Jews by the Komans an instance — 111 consequences of reason- 
ing from theology to science seen in the case of Galileo, and in 
the common belief of a universal deluge — Worse effects result 
from reasoning from science to theology — Prospect of their 
limits being ascertained 140 

LECTUEE VII. 

ORIGIN AND PERPETUATION OF NATURAL RACES OF MANKIND. 

That as the present aspect of external nature has been produced 
by infinitely slow progressions, so it may be inferred that the 
advancement of the human race will be similarly effected — 
Difiaculties in tracing the limits of natural races— Presentation 



CONTENTS. 9 

PAGE 

of a theory that the human family were originally derived 
from a single pair, possessing an innate tendency to give rise 
to several distinct origins of races — Illustrations — Concerning 
the origin of man, science or experience can afford no in- 
formation — Theology only teaches the fact of his creation — 
Distinction of the orders of creation into primitive and sub- 
ordinate ; or the origination of species, and the generation of 
individuals from these, each distinguished by laws and phe- 
nomena peculiar to itself — Of the primeval moral condition of 
the race we are informed through revelation — Comparatively 
recent origin of the present race ; of its different families, the 
Caucasian only has exhibited its proper development — The 
existence of distinct natural families undeniable ; but the influ- 
ences which produced them science cannot determine — Probable 
features of the African civilization — Character not formed by 
climate or local circumstances — Positions assigned to the differ- 
ent families of mankind best adapted for their peculiar de- 
velopments, and this of divine providence — Traits of the Cau- 
casian and African — Summary and review — Conclusion e . . 164 

LECTUEE YIII. 

UNITY IN VARIETY OF THE HUMAN RACE. 

That there are local centres whence have proceeded all living 
forms ; founded in reason to us inscrutable, but the perfection 
of intelligence — Under similar influences these forms are found 
to be the same in their general aspect, but specifically different, 
which accords with our instinctive impressions — On the variety 
of nature a unity is everywhere impressed — Its contemplation 
beneficial — Evidences of variety in unity in the kingdoms of 
nature, especially in the human kingdom — Variety of races as 
well as their unity original — The unity of the human race can- 
not be traced to any particular family, but may be supposed 
originally to have combined in itself every variety that now 
exists — Folly of conjecture as to the destiny of different races 
from their present disproportionate advancement — Natural 
characteristics of the African and Caucasian — Evil of their 
admixture — The Caucasian essentially one race, but comprising 
several varieties — The Germans, Gauls, and Britons ; charac- 
terized by an inquiring, restless spirit — The Jews, Persians, 



10 CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

and Egyptians ; the mystics of the race, and the subjects of 
ritual revelations — The Asiatic and Greek mind contrasted — 
Utilitarian bent of the European branch — Conclusion .... 196 

LECTUEB IX. 

CHARACTER OF THE ANCIENT GERMANS. 

Difficulty of delineating the natural history of man from the pro- 
gression and mutability of his character — "What is his natural 
state, and the final cause of his progression ? — The change pro- 
duced since the Christian era ; the effect of the Christian 
religion — The Caucasian race migratory ; composed of many 
different nations, and these again of distinct tribes — The 
Britons and ancient Germans as described by Tacitus and 
Csesar ; respect of the latter for their women ; powers of divi- 
nation ascribed to them ; their share in public affairs — The 
mutual concern of both sexes for the welfare of the nation a 
token of their natural soundness of mind — Heroism of the 
German women ; their regard for the institution of marriage 
— Chivalry, considered as an affectation in after times of what 
was formerly a just and natural sentiment — Their respect for 
women among the Western tribes supposed to be the chief 
cause of their ready admission of the Christian religion — Ke- 
markable fact, that this religion should have arisen in one 
quarter of the globe, and its most willing adherents be found 
in another — Obscurity of its origin ; extent of its influence — 
Peculiar adaptation of the Western nations for its reception — 
Elements of the British race — Conclusion .......... 226 

LECTUEE X. 

MAN OF AMERICA — SPANISH AND ENGLISH. 

Keflection that the universal lesson of nature, which has been 
parcelled out among the various nations of the earth, each 
having perfected its part, may be reproduced in the Phoenician 
and Scandinavian races on the American continent — Of the 
former are the English, of the latter the Spaniard— The native 
Polynesians and Australasians may be regarded as extremes of 
these— Grecian traditions of the golden age, and the extreme 
barbarism of mankind, being mixed with mythology, uncertain 



CONTENTS. 11 

PAGK 

■ — Translation from ^schylus — Advantages for the study of 
man's history afforded by the meeting in the new world of the 
most barbarous and most civilized condition — The American 
continent designed for the development of principles long latent 
in the minds of emigrants from the Old "World, and which 
were the cause of their emigration — Simplicity of the social 
state in this hemisphere indicated by the community of language 
— Two languages will probably predominate, the Spanish and 
English — Diversity of dialects, in the past condition of the 
human mind, a blessing — Through these, each nation of the 
Old World has been enabled to mature some particular good, 
but, as every good is to be combined here, occasion for such 
diversity no longer exists — Dreadful consequences of identity of 
language, should a despotism arise — Summary — Sketch of the 
progress and character of the Scandinavian and Phcenician 
races 253 

LECTUEE XI. 

ARTS AND COMMERCE OF THE PHCENICIANS. 

Obscure tradition in Plato of the existence of this continent — 
Progress of the science of government evinced by a com- 
parison of American institutions with the theory of Plato's 
Eepublic — The poetry and romance of the ancient condition - 
of society are here superseded by the rational and practical 
— Their religion was local and national, being reflected from 
their original history ; the religion of the moderns is spirit- 
ual and catholic — Modern civilization distinguished by the 
cultivation of the useful arts, by which personal freedom is 
secured to a large portion of the human family, and the 
spirit of peace fostered — The arts proper to man — The Phce- 
nicians the inventors of the economical arts — Their circum- 
navigation of Africa — The invention of alphabetic writing 
ascribed to them — The genius and occupations of the Egyp- 
tians would not have suggested this art — The relations of 
these nations to each other, seen in that which now exists 
between the English and their continental neighbors — Phce- 
nicia an old country in the time of Herodotus — Its decline 
— The Greeks probably of Phcenician descent — Their genius 
and character original 278 



12 CONTENTS. 

LECTUEE XII. 

ELEMENTS OP AMERICAN CIVILIZATION. 

PAGE 

Elements of the civilization of ancient times local and national ; 
in the New "World they are of an abstract character — The con- 
dition of a nation at any period of its history the result of all 
influences which have previously acted upon it — Argument, 
that the American will be a diffused and popular civilization, 
from the structure of the English language — Summary of pre- 
ceding lecture — The character and destiny of a people deter- 
mined by their religion — Illustrated in the Greeks — Preserva- 
tion of the poems of early ages providential — Necessity of a 
new species of poetry and art to correspond with the new civili- 
zation, which is compounded of many elements, from distinct 
local centres — The cultivation of the mechanical and economical 
arts a marked element ; its mother-land Phoenicia — Injurious 
tendencies of these counteracted by Christianity ; its local centre 
Judea — The elements of empire and union contributed by Kome 
— The elements of state sovereignty, poetry, art, and philosophy, 
the legacy of Greece — Purifying and elevating influences of 
Christianity — The poetry and art of the new civilization to be 
thence derived ; of which truth and certitude will be the dis- 
tinguishing characteristics — Concluding reflections 808 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

OF 

THE AUTHOR. 



Alexander Kinmont was born January 5, 1799, in the parish 
of Marytown, three miles west from Montrose, in Angusshire, 
Scotland. His parents were members of the Presbyterian Church ; 
in very humble circumstances, they were extremely frugal and 
industrious, and remarkable for their exemplary piety and inde- 
pendence of character. His father, who is represented as having 
been of a kind and gentle disposition and a truly devout man, 
early impressed upon his son the same reverence for the Sacred 
Scriptures which he himself felt and acknowledged. He incul- 
cated especially upon him, at a very tender age, implicit obedience 
to the Ten Commandments, urging it by the consideration that 
they had been written by the finger of God himself. The impression 
thus stamped upon the forming mind of his child was never for- 
gotten or efiaced. Inheriting from his parents the most inflexible 
honesty and independence of spirit, he was remarkable in infancy 
for his courage, — exhibiting no signs of fear, in common with 
other children. Nor was he less marked for his quick observation, 
ready memory, and faculty of imitation. When about four years 
of age, he visited the parish school with his brother, and on his 
return in the evening surprised the whole family, by repeating 
word for word, the long prayer of the domine, with exact imita- 
tion of look and gesture. He learned to read with the greatest 
facility. 

At this time the reduced circumstances of his parents obliged 
them to hire him out to a neighboring farmer, by whom he was 
employed to guard his cattle and horses from trespassing upon the 

2 13 



14 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

adjoining crops,— the fields there being all unenclosed. This em- 
ployment, though somewhat uncongenial with his active and 
thoughtful disposition, nevertheless brought him into circumstances 
which were calculated to foster and develop an ardent love of 
nature and a devoted attachment to rural life, which never forsook 
him in after-years. He was thus occupied until about eight years 
of age, when his father died of a brain fever. 

He was thus early left to the control and guidance of his mother, 
an excellent woman, of fine sensibilities and a most affectionate 
heart. Never after the decease of her husband was the poignancy 
of the loss absent from her mind. She became in consequence 
extremely pensive, and her whole character was tinged with 
melancholy, the influence of which was not entirely lost upon her 
son, although naturally of a most buoyant, spirited, and cheerful 
disposition. He was now sent to the parish school, where he 
soon became quite as remarkable for his ingenuous disposition 
and reckless and independent character as for his scholastic 
proficiency. 

Shortly after this period an event took place which changed the 
entire current of his life and placed him in the way of developing 
those varied and useful talents for which he has since been dis- 
tinguished. While assisting at a threshing-mill in the neighbor- 
hood of Montrose, one of the wheels caught the tattered sleeve 
of his coat and drew^ in the right arm, mangling it in the most 
shocking manner. With great presence of mind, he braced him- 
self firmly, while it was torn from his body near the shoulder. 
To his brother, who came to him shortly after the accident, he said, 
with the most perfect composure, "Never mind, Willie; you see 
I can do very well with one arm. The men all ran away and left 
me standing ; but I grasped the stump to keep in my blood, and 
called for help." He was taken to the infirmary, and bore the 
necessary amputation without uttering the least complaint. Under 
the kind and careful treatment of the surgoon and intendant, he 
speedily recovered, and was urgently advised by them to devote 
himself to literary pursuits, as affording the most eligible field for 
the development and proper exercise of his talents. He returned 
to the parish school, but soon mastered the learning of his 
teacher. 

He was now about twelve years of age, when he left the parish 



OF THE AUTHOR. 15 

Bchool and returned to his mother's cottage. He did not, however, 
abandon his studies, but walked daily five miles to attend the school 
of a Mr. Huddleston, a teacher of very respectable acquirements, 
and author of a History of the Celts. Here he made considerable 
proficiency in the Latin language, and also in navigation, survey- 
ing, and the common branches of an English education. The 
opinions expressed of him, at this time, by his instructor excited 
the interest of the parish ministers in his behalf, who frequently 
invited him to their houses, and advised him in his course of study 
and in the choice of books. 

At thirteen years of age he attended the grammar school of 
Montrose, under the superintendence of Mr. Calvert, an English- 
man, and an excellent classical scholar. With him he studied the 
Latin, Greek, and French languages, and mathematics. His ap- 
plication was incessant, and he made rapid advances in Latin. 
He remained here two years at the charge of his mother; but, 
brought up in frugality, his wants were easily supplied, and books 
and tuition-bills were the heaviest items of expense. He was now? 
however, enabled to support himself by compensations for assisting 
the principal of the academy, and for instruction in private 
families, in which employment he continued until he had attained 
his nineteenth year, when he entered the University of Aberdeen. 

In most of the universities and seminaries of learning in Scot- 
land there are funds appropriated for the encouragement and 
support of scholars of acknowledged merit. Kinmont, accord- 
ingly, with a view of presenting himself as a candidate for ad- 
mission at Aberdeen, prepared a Latin poem, and a treatise on the 
particle re, which, he doubted not, would secure him the object of 
his wishes. On his arrival at the University, with his friend, Mr, 
Huddleston, he presented his theme to the master of the High 
School, one of the judges of such productions. The conversation 
was conducted in Latin, and the master, delighted with his new 
acquaintance, unhesitatingly assured him that it was quite certain 
that he would take the prize over all his competitors. The result, 
however, proved different, in spite of the remonstrances of the 
master. His theme was highly praised by the professors for its 
purity of style, but rejected on account of two grammatical errors. 
He received it back from them, and replied to their delicate praises 
by an open expression of his sense of the injustice with which he 



16 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

bad been treated. Tbe mail-stage was about starting for tbe south ; 
he instantly mounted on top, and, travelling all night, arrived 
early in the morning at St. Andrew's, and entered the hall of the 
University in time to hear the subjects of the themes proposed to 
the candidates for admission. Making his selection from among 
them, he completed the task before he slept, and had the satisfac- 
tion of carrying off the first prizes in Latin, Greek, and geometry, 
over about thirty competitors. These secured to him board and 
lodging in the University for four years from the fall of 1817. He 
did not, however, avail himself of the privilege for more than 
three years, during which time he supplied his other wants by 
private teaching. 

Fired by the fame of Edinburgh and her celebrated University, 
he hastened to that metropolis, where he taught in some of the 
first families of the place, and attended the various classes in the 
University. While here, he wrote a Latin poem, which was con- 
sidered as possessing considerable merit, and also a tragedy, part 
of which was sent to Mr. Elliston,then manager of Covent Garden 
Theatre, who expressed himself in the highest terms of commen- 
dation of its merit, and sought especially an acquaintance with its 
author. Elliston dying very shortly after, this effort of the tragic 
muse was " consigned to the tomb of the Capulets." 

At this time our author attended the philosophical and theo- 
logical classes of the University, but he soon became disgusted 
with the irrational, as well as unscriptural, systems of theology 
inculcated in the latter. The atheistical soi-disant philosophy of 
revolutionary France was at this period in full vogue over the 
greater part of Europe, nor did the Scottish University escape the 
blighting influence of this demon of scepticism. Though not 
perhaps avowedly, yet at least practically, the precepts of Chris- 
tianity were generally denied. It was impossible for Kinmont to 
avoid being affected by the moral miasmata of the times. He 
therefore soon abandoned his theological studies, and devoted him- 
self with redoubled zeal to the Greek and Latin classics, of which 
he had ever been a most enthusiastic admirer. 

An ardent friend of free institutions, and a decided enemy of 
aristocracy and of all privileged orders, he had ever felt the deep- 
est attachment for the United States of America, and eagerly 
desired to satisfy himself, by personal observation, as to the true 



OF THE AUTHOR. 17 

extent of freedom and independence enjoyed under its govern- 
ment. Dreading above all things the servility usually demanded 
by the patronizing spirit of the great and wealthy, although his 
services at this time were much desired by several distinguished 
individuals in London (to whom he was known through some 
pamphlets he had published, and from his private letters), he was 
unwilling to owe his advancement to aught save his own unas- 
sisted exertions. With these feelings, meeting one day a friend in 
all the hurry of preparation for a journey, he inquired his desti- 
nation. " America," replied he, urging him, at the same time, by 
various arguments, to accompany him. " Give me half an hour to 
reflect upon it," said Kinmont, " and I will tell you my decision." 
By the expiration of that time he declared his determination 
to accompany him, and made immediate preparation for his 
departure. 

He set sail immediately, and arrived in New York about the 
end of May, 1823. Finding himself without money, but at the 
same time free from all fear of want, and full of his native inde- 
pendence, he sold his watch, and sought forthwith an opportunity 
of rendering himself useful as a classical teacher. With his 
characteristic readiness and restless anxiety to be at worJc, he ac- 
cordingly employed the very next day after his arrival in assisting 
at an examination of the school of Nelson, the celebrated blind 
teacher. Finding, however, that his services were not required in 
New York, he remained there but a few days, and started on foot 
for Baltimore. On approaching within sight of the Monumental 
City, he had but a single dollar remaining, and his compassion 
was so moved by the distress of a traveller whom he chanced to 
meet, that he gave him even the half of that. Thus, destitute, 
alone, and unfriended, did he enter Baltimore, but his energy and 
sterling abilities soon procured him employment, and he re- 
mained in this city until he had obtained means sufficient to bear 
him still farther into the interior of the country. Learning that a 
classical teacher was wanted at Bedford, Pa., he determined to 
visit that place and apply for the situation. He went there on 
foot, choosing this mode of travelling not only from habit, but as 
being most economical, and especially as affording him the best 
opportunities of studying the character and learning the condition 
of the people among w^hom he was seeking a home. In this 

2* 



18 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

manner he rendered his journey both delightful and instructive. 
Carrying v;ith him a copy of one of the Greek tragic poets, he 
would often stop in some sequestered spot, and amuse himself by 
reciting aloud passages from a favorite play, fancying he could 
breathe in more freely, as it were, the warm inspiration of the 
Grecian muse from the very air of this western world, where the 
ancient spirit of republican freedom was again revived. On one 
of these occasions, while reading aloud with all the unrestrained 
enthusiasm of his nature under the excitement of the poetry and 
the story, the clergyman of a neighboring village chanced to pass 
by on his way to church ; being a good classical scholar, he lis- 
tened to the sounds with amazement, and, watching unperceived 
Kinmont's gesticulations for some time, took such a partiality to 
the man that he accosted him with a polite request to accompany 
him to the church, which was readily complied with. At the con- 
clusion of the service, the parson followed up his first invitation 
by conducting his new acquaintance to his house, and entertaining, 
him for several days, before he would suffer him to proceed on 
his journey. 

Arriving at Bedford, he was immediately appointed principal 
of the classical academy in that village, and by his unremitted 
application to the discharge of his duties, and the rapid progress 
of his pupils, soon convinced the citizens that in him they had 
secured an instructor of superior abilities, and one highly qualified 
to succeed in the education of youth. His character, at this 
period, though marked by simplicity, candor, and extreme rapid- 
ity of thought and execution, was deeply tinged with melancholy, 
verging often even on misanthropy. His social intercourse was 
confined to a few select friends, and he was observed to be par- 
ticularly fond of solitary walks, and apparently always absorbed 
in meditation. He seemed to have no fixed and definite end in 
view, and, harassed by the most gloomy doubts on the subject of 
religion, he was at last reduced to such a state of despair as to 
avow that he could see no further use of life. A friend, with 
whom he was residing, perceiving the sceptical tendencies of his 
mind, and the despondency under which he was suffering, sug- 
gested to him the propriety of examining the doctrines of the New 
Jerusalem Church, as most likely to solve all his difficulties by 
imparting to him a rational and philosophical view of the nature 



OF THE AUTHOR. 19 

of Divine Eevelation, and leading him at once to the vital truths 
of Christianity. After repeated recommendations, he finally com- 
menced reading the Arcana Ccelestia. As he progressed with 
the first volume, his interest in it gradually increased, and from 
regarding it at first as a most extraordinary production, before he 
had finished that volume he acknowledged his entire conviction 
of the divine inspiration of the Sacred Scriptures, and soon be- 
came a willing and zealous receiver of the doctrines of the New 
Church — ever after declaring this removal of his former scepti- 
cism the most important and happiest event of his life. 

His character seemed now to undergo a complete change. The 
grim and dismal forms of infidelity instantly disappeared, and a 
new and clear light from the Sacred Word beamed upon his mind, 
and illumined his whole pathway through life. He was no longer 
without an end to live for, but devoted himself with fresh alacrity 
to the performance of all his duties. Desirous of removing every 
memento of his former self, he burnt up at this period all his 
previous writings, and determined to start afresh, as it were, on a 
new career of existence. His walks were no longer solitary, but 
enlivened by the presence of some friend; and Nature, instead 
of ofiering gratifications merely to his senses or imagination, was 
teeming with fresh beauties never perceived before, and calling 
into just exercise the awakened powers of his new rational being. 
His leisure hours were occasionally employed in the composition 
of ballads and little poems, for his own gratification and the 
amusement of his friends. On several occasions he prepared 
dramatic pieces as exercises for his scholars ; but he was never a 
very zealous aspirant for poetical honors. 

Henceforward he devoted all the energies and resources of his 
mind to science, literature, and the education of youth ; for he felt 
that there especially lay the field of his duties. During one of the 
vacations of his academy, he visited Cincinnati, travelling, as was 
his custom, the greater part of the way, if not the entire distance, 
on foot. He remained in this place but a short time, however, and 
returned to Bedford, taking his course, as a pedestrian, through the 
interior of Ohio. 

After remaining at Bedford about three years, he removed, 
during the summer of 1827, to Cincinnati, where he immediately 
obtained the full number of scholars he felt himself competent to 



20 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

instruct in the various branches of a classical, mathematical, and 
English education. What were the main-springs and ends of his 
exertions may be readily inferred from the motto which he in- 
scribed at this time upon the first page of his account-book : Sit 
glori(E Dei, et utilitati hominnm. With such pure and philanthropic 
motives of action, and possessed of no ordinary share of intellectual 
vigor and manly independence of character, he could not but suc- 
ceed in everything that he undertook. Having at length, there- 
fore, firmly established his merit as a successful teacher, and 
perfectly secure from all anxiety of a pecuniary nature, he was 
married January 15, 1829. 

His mode of teaching was not modelled after any particular or 
uniform system, but adapted, as far as possible, to the individual 
wants and capacities of his pupils, for he early perceived that there 
were constitutional differences of mind, and that each member of a 
society or of the community at large was best qualified for the 
performance of a specific duty. Hence, he often complained bit- 
terly of the extravagant notions of many parents in endeavoring 
to make scholars and great men of their children, when they were 
qualified by nature to become altogether more useful and happy in 
the workshop or the field. "Each of those lads," said he, sweep- 
ing his hand over his school, " if he be not of solid mahogany, 
must needs be, at least, veneered." Possessing the nicest discrim- 
ination in the various shades of character presented to his view, he 
readily cla.ssified all his pupils under the several natural genera of 
minds which he had observed to maintain from the earliest ages 
down to the present times ; and he endeavored, accordingly, to 
bring out, to the best of his ability, the striking qualities of each. 
In other words, he intended by his course of instruction that each 
one should be actually educated — should display all the various 
useful tendencies and resources that lay hid within him. When- 
ever he received a new pupil, if he were unable at once to assign 
him his proper place, or wished to ascertain the extent of his 
acquirements, he would engage his attention, and, addressing him 
on some subject connected with history or natural science, would 
say to him in conclusion, " Now, sir, write down all you remember 
of what I have been telling you." And upon the scholar's com- 
plying, he would invariably be able to decide accurately upon his 
character and the studies most appropriate for him to pursue. The 



OF THE AUTHOR. 21 

great aim of his instructioDS, both as a teacher of science and 
theology, seems to have been not merely to impart the knowledge 
of truth, but to urge, by every possible motive, the doing of it. 
Thi^ practical tendency of his mind was not only stamped upon his 
philosophy, but present and perceptible in everything he said ; so 
that it has been observed of him, and by men, too, disagreeing 
with him in many of his opinions, that even his ordinary conver- 
sations were worthy of being made public. 

His integrity and purity of heart, and the vital importance he 
attached to the moral education of the youth intrusted to his charge, 
may be judged of by the motto which he affixed over the door of 
his school-house : 

" Nil dictu foedum visuque haee limina tangat, 

Intra qu^ puer est." — " Procul, ! procul este profani :" 

" Maxima debetur puero reverentia." 

Always ready and instant in the performance of duties himself, he 
endeavored to impress a like character upon his pupils. A young 
man having called upon him on a Friday, and expressed a wish to 
enter his school on the coming Monday, Kinmont instantly replied, 
*' By no means, sir ; commence this very afternoon ; get yourself 
used to the tools you are to work with now, that you may begin the 
coming week with good omens and a well-grounded hope of suc- 
cess." His rule of action was to perform faithfully, and without 
solicitude, the duty of the present hour, and to let the future take 
care of itself. So implicit was his trust that Divine Providence 
would dispose of all things for the best, when man had done the 
part assigned to him, that his only care was how he himself might 
perform the greatest amount of good of which his being was 
capable. To a friend, conversing with him on this subject, who 
jocosely asked, " Will you not lay by a penny for a rainy day ?" he 
answered, with a smile, " When I am in want of a dollar, I will 
draw upon Heaven." It is not to be inferred from this that he was 
improvident, for such was never the case ; but he considered a 
reliance upon worldly prudence, without a confidence and hope of 
a far higher order, as mere " vanity and vexation of spirit." He 
was a devoted and incessant student throughout the whole of his 
life, and never suffered his mind to be crushed or subdued by any 
subject of his study. If the information he acquired, therefore, 



22 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

served to increase the mental resources of his genius, it was no less 
useful in calling forth new and original views, by exciting the 
activity of his own independent thoughts. His favorite authors 
were Plato, Homer, and the Greek tragedians, Tacitus, Cicero, 
Bacon, St. Augustine, Swedenborg, and Milton. The " Paradise 
Lost" (apart from its theological dogmas) he esteemed as the 
greatest effort of human genius, in any age, either ancient or 
modern. On first reading it, when a youth, he could not sit still, 
but would start up in the highest excitement, and pace the room 
for some time before he could regain complete possession of him- 
self. In after-life it was often the pocket companion of his rural 
walks. His reading was not, however, confined to the writers just 
enumerated ; but he constantly endeavored, by taking in the 
widest possible range of authors of all ages, to create within him- 
self a sympathy for the whole wide brotherhood of Man, both past 
and present — to approximate continually to a view and appre- 
ciation of Truth Universal. He was consequently a strenuous 
advocate of frequent exercises in translation from the classic 
writers of antiquity; urging these, as among the most efficient 
means of humanizing the individual who would undertake them. 
But his views on this subject embrace so much of the character of 
the man, that they cannot be better presented than in his own 
language ; they are herewith subjoined : 

" There prevails an opinion that our times are remarkably 
original ; and to this I ascribe, in a great measure, that disesteem in 
which classical literature, whether Greek, Latin, or English, is at 
present held. To write and speak like no other person seems now 
to be considered a merit. It were wrong to discourage an implicit 
and unreserved confidence in Truth and Nature; but that pro- 
fusion of language and poverty of thought which is now called 
being spontaneous and original is anything rather than a proof of 
simplicity of heart or freedom of understanding. In such careless 
wealth there is generally more of adulterate than sterling coin — 
more paper than gold. 

" This mania of originality is especially inimical to the labors 
of the school-master. You can hardly now persuade a youth to 
take the necessary pains to elaborate a just and expressive trans- 
lation of an elegant passage of a classical author : he is afraid 
that he may lose that free and unembarrassed air of originality 



OF THE AUTHOR. 23 

whicli nature herself so lavishly bestows, but this imitation might 
impede or destroy. 

"And yet there are few exercises more beneficial, regarded as a 
part of mental discipline, than translation. A man might pursue 
such exercises with benefit to his own mind through his whole 
course of life ; it is the most profitable way of keeping company 
with minds of a lofty stamp. It is then that you come into the 
closest intimacy with genius and taste, and feel the entire divinity 
of their manner. It serves to correct that vicious idiosyncrasy 
which belongs more or less to all who write or speak much, and 
which is sometimes not disagreeable from calling up associations 
of noble thoughts, with which it is wont sometimes to be asso- 
ciated ; but notwithstanding this accidental advantage, it is never- 
theless a positive defect; and of all kinds of imitation, that 
unconscious following of one's self is the most unfortunate. 
Translation, by compelling the mind to run in an unfamiliar 
channel, is the best corrective of this, and may be safely applied 
at any period of life : so far from deadening the powers of original 
thinking, it will quicken them, by bringing foreign and unusual 
trains of thought before the mind. If a man has really the latent 
sources of new and original ideas within him, nothing can repress 
them. Could the mind of Shakespeare have been buried beneath 
the rubbish of Greece or Eome, — such their learning has been 
deemed of late — and be it such, — he would have risen triumphant 
and adorned with their spoils, and not one of all his natural glories 
tarnished. By imitation and translation one will always gain 
something, and can lose nothing, unless a vicious maymerism, which 
the sooner he loses the better. It is a characteristic of all good 
writers that they are addicted to imitation, for no one can write 
well (I speak not of words and periods) who has not a strong sym- 
pathy for and admiration of all that is beautiful ; and the more 
imitative he is in this sense, the more original and pleasing will he 
be ; for he will not be the segment of a man, but the whole. It is 
a greater exploit to imitate successfully than to be original and to 
invent. Bulwer is a mere original, and hence an inferior genius, 
harsh and unnatural (any man could write as well as he does who 
had impudence enough) ; but V/alter Scott was an imitator, and 
hence the charm and naturalness of his works. We recognize in 
him a family likeness with the whole writing race. Demosthenes 



24 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

copied Thucydides, — a devoted copier, but remarkably successful, 
although he wanted range, from not having copied more exten- 
sively. Cicero copied and imitated everybody, — the very mock- 
ing-bird of eloquence ; but that is not his disparagement, but his 
greatest distinction and glory : who so various as Cicero, who so 
sweet, so powerful, so simply eloquent, or again so magnificently 
flowing, and each and all in turns ? The man's mind was a perfect 
panharmonicon ; it was because he despised this paltry modern 
affectation of originality, and reverenced the gods and loved his 
fellow-creatures, and therefore his mind was open to all kinds of 
good influences, and received the natural impression of every 
grand and lovely object. Your original character, your original 
writer, has no sympathies ; he is heart-bound, brain-bound, 
and lip-bound ; he is truly an oddity ; he is like nobody, and 
nobody like him ; he feeds on self-adoration, or the adulation of 
fools, who mistake the oracles of pride and vanity for the inspira- 
tions of heaven. The most perfect imitator that ever wrote, per- 
haps, was Burns, the poet of Scotland, — Scotia Eediviva would 
be the right motto of his works. The resurrection-bodies of the 
just will not be more their own identical bodies (for this I believe, 
maugre the author of 'Natural Enthusiasm') than were the songs 
and glorious inspired strains of Burns, the bodies of the old 
prophets, the Vates Caledonise, risen again. And what nonsense 
they talk of Homer, as if he, forsooth, were original and the 
father of all those epithets and metaphors ! No ; the greatest 
imitator, I make no doubt, that ever lived, he could not have sung 
so rapturously otherwise, and of all the elder bards too. He must 
have been a greater imitator than Virgil, for Virgil is an inferior 
poet. What poet was ever so original as the author of the 
Columbiad? — FuiT. Wordsworth, I understand, is a very original 
poet. Does anybody read Wordsworth ? None but his imitators — 
and his imitators are read. 

" I have always regarded it as a bad symptom in a boy if he 
had no powers of imitation ; he is destined to remain all his life 
a one-sided character. He has no range of sympathies ; he has 
been fused only once in his life, and been poured into a mould, 
and there he cools, and he will never be other than you see him ; 
his creed on all matters is already formed ; and you need no more 
hope to see him changed, beneath the ordinary genial sympathies 



OP THE AUTHOR. 25 

of opinion or of truth, than to find platina melt before an ordinary 
parlor fire. The most promising boys are the most imitative ; in 
this lies their capacity for education. You can make Ciceros of 
them, Demostheneses of them, admirers of the ancients, admirers 
of the moderns, admirers of all men and of all things that are 
deserving of admiration. They are many-sided minds ; that is, 
you can impress many sides upon their minds ; they can admire 
the vigorous didactic of the philosopher, pithy, unadorned, — sense 
and reason, — and they can be enraptured by the sweet melliflu- 
ous strains — * the linked sweetness long drawn out' — of the most 
popular flowing authors. Unreflecting minds that observe these 
VERTUMNi are apprehensive they may lose their identity, and 
end in their having no character at all ; but it is the very contrary 
of this, for it is just such youths at last that do have a character, a 
human, firm character ; not that character Pope speaks of — ' virtue 
fixed, but fixed as in a frost ;' — for the basis on which their moral 
firmness at last reposes is just as extensive as the points of sym- 
pathy and harmony in their minds were before numerous. They 
are rational, religious men, for their heads and hearts have both 
been actuated, but never sectarian ; they are mistrustful of their 
own views, for they know that truth is a polygon ; but the rapidity 
and justness of their survey soon brings them back to confidence; 
they are sure that teuth has a subsistence as well as an existence, 
for in endless variety they have constantly found that unity which 
is the symbol of her Being, the Angel of her presence." 

Having frequently appeared as a public speaker with distin- 
guished success, he was requested by some of his fi-iends to deliver 
a course of lectures during the winter of 1833-34, on such subjects 
as might best suit his own taste and inclination. He accordingly 
prepared a series of twelve lectures, embracing chiefly a view of 
the " Moral and Intellectual Constitution of Man ;" but finding 
himself in the presence of a different and more promiscuous au- 
dience than he had anticipated, he changed his original design, 
and delivered an entirely new course on the "Physical and Intel- 
lectual History of Man." Having devoted several of the preceding 
winters to the study of anatomy, he was enabled to treat the first 
division of his subject — the Physical History of Man — with extraor- 
dinary success ; and he displayed a degree of anatomical knowl- 
edge, minuteness of observation, and philosophical induction 

3 



26 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

altogether surprising to most of his audience. But in the fall of 
the year following he was brought still more prominently and 
favorably before the public by his eloquent and successful defence 
of the Ancient Classics, against the assaults of the distinguished 
Mr. Grimke, of South Carolina. This gentleman had commenced 
a war of extermination against the writings of antiquity, and, 
with no inconsiderable success, was urging upon the public their 
rejection from a course of liberal education. The College of 
Teachers of the Mississippi Valley — an association which Kin- 
mont had been highly instrumental in establishing — was at this 
time holding its annual session at Cincinnati ; and here it was 
that this champion of an exclusively American education encoun- 
tered Kinmont in debate on the very subject nearest to his heart. 
None who were present at this conflict (and it is estimated that 
there were near two thousand) will ever forget the perfect tempest 
of eloquence which Kinmont poured forth on the head of his 
antagonist ; it was in vain to resist so Demosthenean a charge ; 
his forces were completely dissipated, and have never since been 
rallied. 

About this period, Kinmont resumed (after having laid aside for 
nearly two years) the office of expounding the Sacred Scriptures, 
and directing the services of religious worship, in behalf of a con- 
siderable number of individuals, who formed a second Society of 
the New Church in Cincinnati. He continued in the regular 
performance of the duties of this office from that time onward to 
the close of his life. 

During the winter of 1837-38 he delivered his last course of 
lectures on the " Natural History of Man," which gave such uni- 
versal gratification to his audience that he was immediately 
requested to prepare a copy for publication ; but this he could not 
find leisure to do before the subsequent summer. Eetiring to the 
country during the annual vacation of his school in August, he 
employed himself in revising and correcting these lectures for the 
press, and had scarcely completed the task when he was called to 
resume the duties of his profession. He entered upon them with 
alacrity, but scarcely a week had elapsed when he was attacked 
by a fever, which, after an illness of about three weeks, terminated 
his mortal career, September 16, 1838. 

Thus, in the full prime and vigor of manhood, was Kinmont 



OF THE AUTHOR. 27 

removed from the scene of his earthly labors ; but the usefulness 
he nurtured by the cheerful performance of his duties while here 
has now bloomed, we trust, and borne a rich and golden fruitage 
under far brighter and more congenial skies. In him were com- 
bined the scholar, the philosopher, the orator, the honest man, and 
devout Christian. He was warmly attached to science and philoso- 
phy, because thereby he secured the means of his usefulness. He 
was always earnest and eloquent, for his language flowed from his 
heart, and he never meant other than he said. His duties as a 
Christian and a teacher of religious truth were performed with the 
greatest humility, devotion, and zeal, for he felt that all the truths 
he possessed, and the ability to make them known to others, were 
alike gifts, which the obligations of duty urged him to present 
upon the altar of the common good. 

But no encomium or commendation is needed to insure his 
remembrance ; for if the ideas of virtue and excellence are fash- 
ioned in the human mind by observation and reflection upon their 
personified forms in the acts and conduct of individuals ; if, when 
we think of integrity, purity of heart, devoutness, independence 
of character, frankness, disinterestedness, and zeal for the public 
good, we picture to ourselves some person in whom these virtues 
have been embodied, then will Kinmont recur, as often as they 
are presented to the minds of those who enjoyed his acquaintance 
and experienced the benefit of his labors. They surely will feel 
with what justness it may be said of him, — 

cui Pudor, et Justitise soror 

Incorrupta Fides, nudaque Veritas 
Quando ulliim inveniet parem? 



LECTURE I. 

MAN CONSIDERED AS A UNIT. 



The science of human nature — which, to designate by 
a learned name, we might call Anthropology — is chiefly 
valuable as an introduction to the science of Deity, or 
divine nature, now familiarly known by the received term 
Theology. Man, we are informed, is made in " the image 
and likeness of God" (in which words are contained more 
things than volumes could express) ; but, if this be so (and 
it is), it would seem the part of wisdom, as well as of 
modesty, first diligently to make ourselves acquainted with 
human nature, before we begin to discourse^ at least, on 
divine nature, for to know it, and revere it, and humbly to 
adore it, is not only the duty, but the very first duty of 
Man. 

A fonte p?incipium, — from this fountain, and living source 
of all right thoughts and pure desires, may every sentiment 
and idea of our lectures proceed. But with this acknowl- 
edgment and ascription of Grood to its only origin, let us 
forthwith descend to a lower theme, and try whether we 
cannot in "the image and likeness" trace some of the more 
majestic lineaments of the original. I do not intend in 
these lectures to deliver any formal science of human 
nature, far less any theory which might indeed deserve the 
learned name of Anthropology ; for such theory or perfect 

3* 29 



30 NATURAL HISTORY OP MAN. 

science, I imagine, would be premature still, by many 
hundreds of centuries ; for after the lapse of the entire 
historical period of three thousand years, human nature, it 
seems to me, has not yet revealed the millionth part of its 
secrets or latent energies : all I intend, then, is but sketches, 
chiefly historical ones, of human nature, and these, too, 
not more in the character of a teacher than as myself a 
learner; for in bringing together in the form of lectures, as 
time and circumstances will permit, such notices of Man's 
natural history as I can collect or have noted, placing, as it 
were, the different parts of the subject in juxtaposition, 
however remote in time or place, we may be able to make 
certain useful inferences, or see at least the dawnings of 
certain grand conclusions, which will conduct to the Chris- 
tian Eeligion, not through tradition or prejudgment, but 
through fact, experience, and rational demonstration. 

Just and adequate conceptions of Human Nature, it seems 
to me, have been very much hindered by the partial and 
disconnected modes in which it has been handled. One 
writer undertakes to explain the philosophy of the body, 
another that of the mind ; on the last division, one perhaps 
chooses for his theme the intellectual, another the moral 
powers ; the physical history, in like manner, is separated 
from the civil history : and thus, although much has been 
well written on all these various subjects, yet no general or 
connected view is presented of the Whole Man. To attempt 
such a view, indeed, would be a gigantic enterprise, and 
such perhaps as we may despair to see accomplished by 
any one person ; but still those who would entertain just, 
if not very systematic, ideas respecting man should, at least, 
combine all the various subjects together in their thoughts, 
if not in their modes of treating them, and that whole which 
will at last arise before their minds will doubtless be more 
true to nature, if not to system, than the views which a 
more regular discussion or artificial contemplation of the 



LECTURE I. 31 

subject might ever suggest to them. For, as Bacon has 
pithily observed, non leve qulddam interest^ inter huniance 
mentis idola et divince mentis ideas, — the difference is not 
small between the idols of the human mind and the ideas 
of the divine mind, — that is, between the notions and 
arbitrary landmarks of Men, instituted on nature, and those 
veritable distinctions and signatures which are originally 
impressed upon her. 

And these arbitrary and notional distinctions have not 
only infested physical science, to which Bacon alludes, but 
still more the science of human nature, and also theology. 
For instance, that universal distinction of Man into soul 
and body is undoubtedly recognizable in nature, whatever 
objection may be brought against either of the terms used 
to designate it : of the distinction itself, all savage and 
civilized language bears ample evidence; it is a distinction 
which we feel, and of which no mode of reasoning can deprive 
us. But when on the ground of this distinction we intro- 
duce others, and speak of the "immortality of the soul" as 
distinct and separate from every idea of a body, we are, 
unconsciously to ourselves, discussing a notion or idol of 
abstract philosophy, transmitted to us from the Greek 
schools, and not an "idea of the Divine Mind," or a truth 
which has its signature and stamp on the nature of Man. 
For the "idea of the Divine Mind" here, as appears from 
revelation, is the resurrection of Man from the dead, — Man, 
I sa}', as known to us, — embodied, yet spiritually ; this is the 
"idea of God;" and the signature of the same idea, as re- 
vealed on Nature, is to be seen on the mind of the savage 
and the unphilosophical civilized man, who, in the simplicity 
of their hearts (and there is truth in that simplicity), still 
cling even to the very forms and persons of the dear departed 
good and kind, whose very bodies — but oh, how changed ! — 
seem to them more beautiful and bright than ever. " \Ye 
shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed." 



32 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

I beg leave, then, to say that in the course of these lec- 
tures I shall, as far as possible, keep this idea or impression 
of Man before me, — that is, of a being to be contemplated 
under two natural hemispheres of distinction. Mind and 
Body, on the latter of which shines the Sun of nature, on 
the other that better Light which is " the True," — but what 
God has joined indissolubly together I shall not, in philo- 
sophical notionality, put asunder ; for, although the terres- 
trial portion of the body resign its vitality, I must still, as 
a matter of faith, believe that the spiritual or essential 
body i« not so extinct, but wears the image of that 
" heavenly" which arose. This simple and natural view of 
the subject will save us a world of trouble : we shall be rid 
at once of all those absurd and vague definitions about the 
mind and soul which are purely abstract and notional, and 
shall see constantly before us a real Man, at each turn of 
our discourse, clad in the sensible habiliments of beauty 
and majesty, which meet us now, and which, I believe, will 
always meet us in every possible stage of his future exist- 
ence. Si in hoe erro, libenter erro, nee mihi hunc errorem, 
dum vivo, extorqueri volo. 

Man, however, as he stands unveiled before us in that 
Divine form in which we know him (for we need not 
scruple to call it divine, in the sense in which it is the 
image of Him who was the image of the Invisible), in this 
form alone, we could not have understood him, or seen a 
legible portraiture of his faculties. The mind and body 
are two, an indissoluble two ; but the actions are the third 
and the commentary which explain the other, and render 
their relations and energies — their faculties, visible and 
invisible — lucid, distinct, and, although not completely 
comprehensible, yet measurably apprehensible. It is the 
kinds of actions which man performs, or which he aspires 
to perform, or which he has the conscious ability to per- 
form, which explain the reasons of his peculiar bodily 



LECTURE I. 38 

structure, or the characters and singularities of his mental 
endowments. What folly it is to attempt to unfold the 
reason of these but from his actions ! it is the energy of 
Man, his action on objects beyond him, which interprets to 
us the unseen mind, and makes known the life and effi- 
ciency of the body. It is this trinity of Man (for man is 
the image of his God, in whom is the essential Trinity) 
under which his whole character must be studied ; if you 
take either ^person or aspect of his character separately, 
thafc of his mind, or his body, or his history (his forth- 
going), you have but a third of your subject before you. 
If viewed under the person of his mind alone, he is abso- 
lutely inscrutable, and hence the barrenness of mere mental 
philosophy, a farrago of notions, a tissue of terms ; if con- 
templated under the person of the body, you have a steady 
view, but when in his history also, a complete one. 

Look, then, at his history broadly (in detail I shall pre- 
sent parts of it hereafter) : you are astonished at the num- 
ber of his arts, the complication of his actions, the millions 
of designs that have been struck out by him, the millions 
of contrivances which have been adopted to accomplish 
them, — and all that, too, within the compass of one age, 
within the limits of one nation : unroll that chart of human 
history until a second age appear, — a third, — a fourth ; the 
same complication of arts, designs, successful or abortive 
efforts, still; but each successive age marked with new 
features, peculiar, its own ; what immensity of ideas, what 
mutability also ! — and all this, perhaps, in one nation, in 
one little spot of earth : take another nation, — a third, — a 
fourth ; the same endless complications and variety still 
discovered ! Now, this is an aspect of Man in the person 
of his history, his efficiency, his forth-going. Forthwith 
revert to the second person of Man, the body ; bid the 
anatomist and the physiologist unfold to you this, and he 
will show you here combination and number, and designs 



34 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

and arts and functions, of which the analogies of human 
history are but shadows. How many designs or separate 
scopes or ideas of art, think you, could be counted in the 
human arm alone, which has achieved the deeds of history ? 
The splendor and number of all artificial achievements sink 
into insignificance before that constellation of glorious di- 
vine arts which have been lavished on the human hand 
alone, not to speak of the other parts of the body. But 
yet these shadows of Man's power first lead us to the 
bright examplars of essential art: we are led to admire 
the model from the success of the imitation. And in the 
actions of Man the powers of the body are understood, 
and in both combined the mind or soul is at last justly 
manifested. And herein, indeed, is the very citadel of Hu- 
manity: it is a "consuming fire," when viewed in itself 
abstractedly, scorching and dissipating all the vain specu- 
lations which from age to age have been clustering around 
it alone^ to invade its secrecy or to pollute its vestals ; but 
still in a salutary manner making itself known in the body, 
through its functions and actions. 

On this tyjpe of the soul, I mean the body and its actions, 
let us steadily fix our attention in the prosecution of our 
inquiries ; and if we can catch thence any oracular response 
res23ecting the real character of the inward Man, or that 
assemblage of his spiritual faculties called the mind, let us 
not be heedless of such information, but endeavor, to the 
best of our abilities, to interpret them aright. The path 
of inquiry is distinct ; let us mark a few of its bearings. 

When we consult our own consciousness only, in regard 
to the organization of the body, we receive hardly any 
other impression from this source but that of unity or 
oneness^ and, when the mind is sound and the health good, 
this impression is only the more entire and unblemished. 
The pervading sentiment of the unsophisticated mind, the 
natural language of our feelings (philosophy and observa- 



LECTURE I. 35 

tion apart), is that the being which we designate " I" is 
one and indivisible. This is the silent and unequivocal 
testimony of nature, manifested to our own unreflecting 
consciousness, of the unity of Man, — an echo, as it were, 
of the voice of God himself, proclaiming his own unity in 
us. Independently of experience and observation — that is, 
from mute consciousness alone — we should have no knowl- 
edge of that wonderful complication of organs and their 
functions which lie concealed within the interior of the 
frame. With respect to that vital blood itself which circu- 
lates in every part of our body, we should have no knowl- 
edge of its existence, far less of its color, its aliment, or its 
uses, but from experience. It is true, we might feel that 
we were strengthened by food or enfeebled by long fasting, 
and hence we could certainly infer that food was necessary 
to our existence, while we were also sensible of an appetite 
for it implanted by nature ; but in what manner it strength- 
ened our bodies, by what means it was made to contribute 
to that end, our own unassisted consciousness could never 
have informed us. 

Let us suppose, then, a person of mature mind, well 
informed in all other respects, but who, from some cause 
or other, had never been led to think on the organization 
of his own body ; let us suppose, also, that he has been of 
such perfect health as never to have experienced any of 
those morbid sensations which first convey to us the idea 
that our body is composed of many parts, liable to peculiar 
affections (for it is disease which first obscures the delightful 
impression of the unity of our system, and introduces the 
sense of multitude), — but, for once, let us suppose a person 
of sound health and good understanding, totally uninformed 
on the subject, to have sat down to reflect on the hidden 
organs within his own body, their forms and uses in regard 
to food and drink, how these contributed to strength or 
refreshment; or the air which he inspired, how it affected 



36 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

his system, or by what organs it was received, and what 
their complexion and relations : what definite information 
on all these points could his unaided reflections afford him? 
Among the thousand theories and conjectures which he 
might form, would one of them be true to the facts ? 
Could his reason alone (without other aids) inform him 
even that there was such a thing as blood in his body, still 
less that it is circulated in every part of it, in tubes con- 
structed expressly for the purpose, and with that vital art 
so truly admirable ? Could his most ingenious reasoning 
or most lively fancy have presented him with a true picture 
of the lungs or of the nervous system ? Could he have 
seen the liver, the spleen, the heart, and all their connec- 
tions, and relations, and adjustments? When you reflect 
how impossible it would be for him by reasoning alone to 
have discovered all these wonders, or to construct other 
than the most foolish hypotheses in regard to them, theories 
the most wide of the truth, you will feel the value and 
justness of Bacon's first aphorism in the "Novum Orga- 
num," which is to this amount, that Man, the minister and 
interpreter of nature, can advance no farther in knowledge 
or in action than as he has observed the order of Natui'e, 
exhibited in sensible fact, or declared by legitimate induc- 
tion ; or, in other words, we might say, that the true doc- 
trine of nature is to be derived from the letter itself of 
nature, and established thereon, and that all reasonings and 
opinions independent of this source and sole criterion of 
their truth, founded on speculation alone, without previous 
observation, are as worthless in natural science as those 
theories in theology built upon fancies, not facts ; on the 
suggestions of the human mind, not on the solid texts of 
literal Scripture. But Bacon's expression is : Quantum de 
naturae ordine, re vel mente observaverit, etc. ; the order of 
nature, observed as sensible fact, or deduced as undoubted 
inference from fact before known. This is easily compre- 



LECTURE I. 37 

bended by a familiar illustration. A navigator arrives at 
an unknown country, and sails up a cbannel, wbicb be finds 
to be a river, an immense body of fresb water, rolling 
onward to tbe ocean ; be sees at once in bis mind's eye a 
great expanse of country from wbicb it is supplied ; and 
bis inference bere is as certain in regard to tbe extent as if 
be bad already traversed it and seen it witb bis bodily eyes : 
it is a deduction from a previous order of nature, already 
known. 

But in tbe case of tbe pbilosopbical adult I bave supposed, 
be is ignorant as yet altogetber of a certain peculiar order 
of nature, — I mean tbat order of nature establisbed by tbe 
Deity in tbe animal frame, tbat system and arrangement of 
organs and tbeir functions according to wbicb an animal 
body is maintained in its being and use. Here, baving no 
previous knowledge or experience to guide bim, wbat is be 
to do ? To ask of bis reason to inform bim, a priori, bow 
God bas constructed a living body ? His reason could not 
give tbe most distant knowledge, apart from experience and 
observation ; tbe best oflSce of bis reason in sucb a case is 
to say to bim, " go and see." And we sball suppose, tben, 
tbat be follows tbat bidding, tbat be inquires, tbat be traces 
tbe facts, tbat be reads tbe letters of tbis sacred Scripture 
of nature, and, being but an inexpert scbolar, be takes per- 
baps a Harvey to guide bim, tbe apostle of tbe circulation 
of tbe blood, and otber teacbers also be calls to bis aid ; 
and tben it is, at last, tbat tbe true system of nature begins 
to be revealed to bim, — facts, new and unexpected, divine 
and peculiar, appear one after anotber, and awaken admira- 
tion and astonisbment. Tbese are no longer idols of bis 
own mind, but ideas of tbe Divine Mind. Wbat was bis 
first obscure consciousness respecting bis own body ? Tbat 
it was simply a unit, tbat it was an organ of uses, and tbat 
tbe organ was one, — and tbis impression science does not 
destroy, but ratber confirms ] but by experience, and obser- 

4 



38 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

vation, and analysis, she now shows that this unit consists 
of many parts, or, rather, to speak of hidden function, of 
many distinct systems of parts, which act in concert, pro- 
ducing that general unity, manifested to the conscious- 
ness, of which the material type is the body, and the 
mental expression that person whom we denominate " I," 
" thou," or by other similar epithet. Among the many sys- 
tems which constitute this unit, he discovers, to his joy, 
several, already clearly defined and exhibited through the 
industry and eagle-eyed sagacity of science, — the system of 
digestion, embracing several minor systems ; the dual sys- 
tem of the greater and lesser circulations, a provision for 
the distribution of the blood, and the depuration of the 
blood ; the system of respiration, connected with the reno- 
vation of the blood, as a partial end, and with other, perhaps 
still higher, ends, as yet little understood ; lastly, the system 
of nerves, whose function is of the greatest dignity, although 
the mode of operation is not yet connected with any known 
principle of science. All these (farther enumeration is 
unnecessary) observation brings to light ; reasoning, with- 
out it, never could. But, what is most wonderful, each of 
these systems has its own peculiar organ, which corresponds 
with the function, and its own appropriate centre, in which 
its unity is enthroned, as it were, and rendered visible. 
Thus, the centre of respiration is the lungs, but the action 
touches and verges on every other function of the body;- 
the centre of circulation, the heart ; the centre of digestion, 
the stomach ; the centre of nervous animation^ the head : 
all these also science and observation point out ; all these 
great doctrines of nature are drawn from the literal reading 
of nature's manuscript, and established on this basis of 
experience. For, as an illustration, even after we had 
known something of the use and function of respiration, 
could we still have known from reasoning that such an 
organ as the lung was the necessary and proper one to dis- 



LECTURE I. 39 

charge it ? After we have seen it, and have known that it 
performs this function, we say that it is the right one, and 
we feel as if it would be impossible that it could be other 
than it is ; but still we can give no other reason but this 
very abstract one, that the Deity must have selected what 
is fittest, and we say therefore, and here we rest, that the 
organ corresponds exactly with the use, and the use with 
the organ. But still, antecedently to all experience, we 
could not from the sight of the organ have inferred what 
was its use, nor yet from the use being given have deter- 
mined, a priori, what kind of organ the Deity would have 
selected to perform it : we only could have said that we 
did not doubt that he would select the best, and here we 
would have been right ; but even this is an inference, which 
has grown with our growth and strengthened with our 
strength, from the fact that we innately perceive that the 
acts of the Deity are all perfectly wise and good ; so that 
even this anticipation is the result of experience, although 
grounded on nature itself Similar observations to these 
will apply to all the organs of the body, as, for example, to 
the eye. What more does the uninstructed rustic know of it 
but just this one thing, that he sees with it, or perhaps this 
additional piece of science to grace his knowledge, namely, 
that if he shut his eyelids he does not see ? of any intricacy 
of structure in the eye, or even of any necessity of such in- 
tricacy, he has no conception. Science reveals the first, — 
that is, the intricacy of the structure ; but with respect to 
the latter — the necessity of it — even she is blind, unless so far 
as she sees that it has relation to certain laws of light which 
have been discovered. But in regard to the ear, an organ 
equally intricate, she may be said to be altogether non- 
plussed, for, the laws of sound being less known than the 
laws of light, the relations between the mechanism of the 
ear and the vibrations of sound are hardly in the least degree 
understood. — But we pursue not these hints farther now. 



40 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

Mark, then, the result. We supposed a person of mature 
understanding, well acquainted with the order of nature 
in other particulars, but totally ignorant of the order of 
nature as respected the formation and working of the 
animal body; and we have shown that, antecedently to 
even a shadow of experience, all his conjectures would have 
been worthless ; and, indeed, we might have proved this 
from the actual fact of the groundless and insane theories 
that have been from time to time broached, even by philoso- 
phers, on this very subject, — attempting to be wise above 
what is done^ or, rather, without what is done; but we 
suffer all that to pass, for we hasten to the second grand 
feature of this subject. 

Observe, the expression of Bacon is, that man knows 
only so much of the order of nature, quantum re vel mente 
observaverit, so much as he has noticed in fact and in 
reason, — that is, by rational and certain deduction from 
fact. The first we have already explained ; we have sup- 
posed that our grown-up philosopher has made himself 
acquainted in fact with a peculiar order of nature of which 
he was before ignorant, — namely, that order constituted in 
an animal body ; this, then, is a fact, and a fact of a new 
kind, come to his knowledge ; is it a barren one, or is it 
productive ? I say it is productive, and of immense and 
endless inferences, which can now be rationally deduced 
from it. JSTow comes the second part of Bacon's aphorism ; 
he has observed in fact, he can now observe with his reason. 
He has looked into an animal body, and understood much of 
the great laws of its functions ; the animal he has inspected 
is one of a certain class, species, or genus ; but now, from the 
laws of order of animal life in one instance, he can infer 
what they will be as to their general bearings in any other : 
if a new quadruped is presented to him, after a glance at its 
form he can tell that he will find therein a heart, a circu- 
lation of the blood, lungs for respiration, a nervous system, 



LECTURE I. 41 

a vertebrated column, that arched mechanism of the spine, 
namely; and in all these it is impossible he shall be disap- 
pointed; the inference here is just as certain as the sen- 
sible fact was before; if he theorizes about the specific 
peculiarities of the lungs or heart in this unknown case, he 
may be mistaken, but as respects the grand laws of order 
of animal life he cannot. Why ? Because the doctrines of 
that order are written in palpable characters on every 
animal, and he has read these letters and has grounded his 
faith thereon : his faith is founded on a rock, — on the 
stability of nature, — and cannot be overthrown. 

It might be easy to extend the illustrations of this great 
principle to much length, but I forbear; each one's own 
mind will suggest numerous applications. For instance, 
the inferences drawn from astronomy are perfectly certain 
if the facts are surely established. Provided it be estab- 
lished that the planets are earths like our own, — of such 
magnitude, and revolving around the sun as ours ; that the 
order of planetary existence, as to its grand laws, should 
also be similar in other respects to that which prevails 
here seems a matter of unavoidable inference ; the three 
departments of nature, the vegetable, the animal, the 
mineral, are there already, either in fact or in embryo, in 
potency : a darkness may brood over the face of the deep 
on one or more of those rolling worlds still, but the Seven 
Days of symmetrical and finished creation will yet cover 
their bosoms with all the luxuriancy and beauty of ani- 
mated nature ; their Time will come, if it has not already ; 
such laws of creation the science of geology makes known 
to us. 

We seem, then, to have arrived at the following conclu- 
sions : 

1. That the plan or order adopted by nature in the prose- 
cution of her designs, commonly called laws of nature, can 
never he ascertained in the first instance, unless by observation 

4* 



42 NATURAL HISTORY OP MAN. 

and experiment, with more or less of the exercise of the reason- 
ing faculty. 

■2. That, when such 'plan or order or general law has been 
once ascertained, we have an innate conviction respecting it, 
that nature will not capriciously abandon it, whatever modifi- 
cations, for the sake of use and variety, she may introduce, so 
as occasionally to veil, but never to extinguish the principle. 

This last conclusion is extremely valuable, and is the 
Peter, or Eock, on which the Temple of Science is built, 
the emblem of its immutability and eternal duration. We 
shall see further illustrations of it in succeeding lectures. 

Could we understand the constitution of our being, — our 
elementary Nature, — how it has been made up, and what 
impressions withal are fixed upon it in its first formation, we 
should then perhaps understand also how this method of 
observation and induction becomes necessary to us. But 
there is here a wide field of discovery yet unexplored ; all 
we can do here is to collect certain probabilities, and form 
conjectures which have a semblance of reason ; and this is 
not forbidden, provided we do not magnify our guesses into 
the importance of absolute truth. When we are sure that 
certain grand laws of nature are at work in the production 
of beautiful results, it serves at least to keep the magnifi- 
cence of her plans steadily before our eyes, to form some 
idea or conjecture concerning them, for in this manner the 
spirit of nature, as it were, is brought into contact with our 
spirit, and we are improved by the intercourse. For, it 
seems to me, if I were certain that I were in the presence 
of some eminent personage, distinguished for his wisdom 
and goodness, — for example, a Plato, an Archimedes, or a 
Fenelon, — merely to hear him speak, and to catch the tones 
of his voice, although his words were unintelligible, would 
inspire me with a certain sense of grandeur, an inexplicable 
feeling of delight. And, indeed, there must always be cer- 
tain signs of greatness which in such a case strike every 



LECTURE I. 43 

mind. And so it is in the contemplation of many of the 
grand acts of nature : we often cannot interpret them, or, 
rather, we never fully understand them ; but still the idea 
that it is nature we contemplate, encompassed, as she ever 
is, with the many sweet tokens of greatness and benevo- 
lence, makes a good, a just and rational impression always 
upon our hearts and understandings. And the more pro- 
found and inscrutable the subject is, the more readily and 
sweetly does the scientific melt into the mystical ; and God, 
if not the method of his work, stands awfully and impres- 
sively revealed before us. And such, in a pre-eminent de- 
gree, must always be the tenor of our feelings when we 
reflect upon the origin of our being, and the laws which are 
impressed upon our souls at the first formation. Say, then, 
how is it here ? Is it actually true that certain faculties of 
reading God's laws at an advanced period of our life are 
impressed upon our forms while still in embryo, as our eyes 
and ears are moulded and cast in the womb with reference 
to that light and those vibrations of the atmosphere which 
have not yet reached that region of our mysterious crea- 
tion ? How remarkable, how wonderful this provision ! It 
is a physical one ; the doors, the portals are formed, and 
nicely proportioned for those guests that are to enter, — the 
sound and the light ; and is it, then, safe, on this analogy, to 
declare that the architect of nature — " the former of Man 
in the womb" — has also constituted in our being, when first 
struck^ the faculties and organs for the reception of all those 
truths and mystic laws which the soul is designed to read 
when, in the world of external nature, it becomes adoles- 
cent ? And is it a fact that the patterns of things without 
exactly tally with the counterparts within, which have been 
there moulded on our being from the first ? And what is 
this knowledge, this science of things, which we afterwards 
receive with such delight ? is it but a result of the meeting 
and congratulation of natures so congenial and true, — the 



44 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

nature within and the nature without us, fitted and adapted 
to each other by the will of the same beneficent Creator? 
Should this be so, or aught similar thereto, then the ascer- 
taining of the facts and laws of creation were but the reno- 
vation of the impressions originally made on the soul by 
God,— the mutual inaptation of congenial natures, — but that 
of Man active, this of external creation passive. And so 
all nature had been originally inscribed, as in epitome, on 
the soul of Man, and hence on the brain, on its start on 
the career of existence. And these truths or laws were 
impressed upon it (ere he was yet intelligently conscious of 
them) a priori; and this the golden age of heavenly thought, 
of which now the bare dream is left him ; for ever after, — 
that is, subsequent to birth,— the inculcation of truth and 
laws and knowledge is in the reverse method, or by induc- 
tion, namely, a posterioribus ad priora, from effects to their 
causes. 

You will perceive that in all this I am but presenting a 
theory, or rather but an assemblage of images, and that I 
fail in giving any true account of the formation of the 
human soul, or the reasons whereon are grounded the 
natural and established method of its attaining knowledge; 
nevertheless, every theory or form of words or speculations 
which can bring more before us the stupendous facts of 
nature, the curious tissue of Man's original creation, and 
the progressive development of his soul is useful and to be 
encouraged, as you may peep over the shoulders of these 
theories or speculations themselves constantly, at the mys- 
tical array of sublime and holy truths which thus cast their 
majestic shadows before them, — on the vestibules of our 
Bouls, as we would in vain essay to enter the temple. 

It may not be uninteresting to you, therefore, merely for 
the sake of keeping the facts a little longer before you, in 
a few words to state a theory on this subject, which I find 
in a Latin work, published in Germany in the middle of the 



LECTURE I. 45 

last century, I believe, little known and never translated ; 
and so to leave the matter to your own reflections, for our 
minds seem to know more here than our philosophy can 
express ; for it is a question which belongs to both worlds, — 
and half of it in darkness, and half of it in light. 

The author I speak of distinguishes the two states of 
human life, that which is antecedent to birth, and that 
which is consequent. In the former the lungs enjoy a 
certain sweet and tranquil slumber, and the brain is the 
chief or only source of bodily animation ; but this condition 
of existence, which seems to us so imperfect, is yet nearer 
to a Divine Perfection than the other, because it is the 
essential type of creation, which is effected a priori ad pos- 
terius, the external parts being moulded from an internal 
and vital energy. And during this state foreign or outward 
causes are allowed to exercise no disturbing influences, and 
hence the symbols of the divine ideas on the divine work 
itself are here impressed in their natural and proper order 
and arrangement. The oracles of nature are written on 
our being, as it was anciently reported that the responses 
of the Sibyl were marked or dotted on the leaves of trees, 
carefully arranged within her grotto, but no sooner was the 
least blast of air admitted, on the intrusion of the curious, 
than the whole was dispersed and thrown into confusion : 

" Inconsulti abeunt, sedemque odere Sibyllas." 

Yery similar is it on the birth of man: the perfect and 
unsullied order of Grod is now to suffer discomposure ; the 
lungs and their organs of expression now become the 
external tablets of the soul, for impressions are now re- 
ceived from without, and the original copy of our ideas on 
the soul itself is no longer such as to be legible ; but still 
it is preserved, although all the characters are confused. 
Hence the dark state of man on his first entrance into the 
world ; all is now to be done by himself in a reverse order, — 



46 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

that is, a posteriore ad prius, — which was before so much 
more brightly and graphically executed on his first creation. 
The lungs, which before were passive, now become signally 
active, and speech and tones and looks — their peculiar 
work— now appear the substitutes of the brain and its 
actions, which held before the most conspicuous place in 
the system and exercised undivided sway. But still the 
lungs at last are found to be but the external agents or 
ministers of the brain itself; and they hold, as it were, a 
mediatorial office between the inward world of Man and the 
outward world of nature. The atmosphere, on the one 
hand, seems to excite and impel them, as if nature were 
here gaining the supremacy ; but the brain, on the other, 
or, rather, the soul through the brain, vindicates its title to 
original dominion, and, by reaction on the mechanism of 
breathing, expels all foreign and adventitious influences, 
and shows demonstrably that the lungs, with all their 
appurtenances, are but its instruments. And here is an 
image, as in a mirror, of the inductive philosophy and 
analytical reasoning. The soul after birth seems neces- 
sitated to derive all its ideas from without, and to be no 
longer capable of moulding them according to the forms of 
its own original creation ; but the appearance is fallacious, 
for it is indeed certain that external nature seems to impress 
itself on the soul, and to leave thereon prints of itself, as 
the atmosphere rushes on the lungs and seems to be the 
cause of their action ; but in either case there is a power 
above and superior to outward nature, and it is the true 
and original power; and, rightly to speak, the outward 
world is not constituted the cause, but only the occasion of 
those ideas, whose materials make up the whole fabric of 
our knowledge, and wisdom, and power, and that, too, a 
knowledge, and wisdom, and power which is cemented and 
held vitally together by that same mysterious Power which, 
even without any act of ours at all, originally formed our 



LECTURE I. 47 

bodies so perfectly and so beautifully. The induction, then, 
of knowledge, a posteriore ad prius, is an indispensable work 
of Man, according to the present constitution of his being ; 
but it supposes also, in every instance of its exercise, the 
simultaneous exertion of a higher Power, whose mode of 
action has been from the first, and ever will be, a priori ad 
posterius, and this power is Divine and creative, and indeed 
alone is, — the other only seems to be, or exists from its 
action. In this manner are reconciled the jarring conten- 
tions of the schools, and the apparent discord of nature 
itself, in the beautiful harmony of the human system, the 
illustrious triumph of divine art. — His mediis ad mentem 
nostram superiorem seu ad animam enitimur, quae tunc 
obvia fit, et infundit potentiam : quantum enim his instructi 
alis ascendimus, tantum Mens ista ad nos descendit, et suis 
talaribus nostras alas iraplicat, et amplectitur, ac docet ideas 
nostras in rationes, et ration es in analyses convertere : id 
etenim, non corporeum est, quare nee id a sensibus trahimus 
sed a potentia, quse a sphsera supra nostram, in nostram 
influit. ^ From this admirable constitution of our nature it 
has arisen, — namely, from the endowment of a superior and 
inferior mind, acting in concert, — that we are enabled, 
through experiments and the sciences, our auxiliaries, to 
elevate our souls, as it were, on the wings of nature, while, 
to meet us in our flight, a higher mind descends equipped 
as Mercury with golden sandals and winged feet, which 
forthwith embraces us, and, infolding its pinions in ours, 
raises us at length into an atmosphere of serene intel- 
ligence, where our sensual ideas become rational, and yield 
the pure truths of analysis, — the product not of the body 
or the senses, but of that Power which is above them, and 
influences all our thoughts, without ever being confounded 
with them. 

But let us here leave the subject ; enough is said to excite 
reflection. Where facts are clear and certain, let us tread 



48 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

with firm foot; where the process is less known, let us 
endeavor, at least, to obtain glimpses of the wonders which 
are presented to our contemplation. Let us entertain im- 
plicit faith in nature and the Divine Author ; with regard 
to the suggestions of our own minds, let us admit them 
with caution, but not altogether reject them ; they are, at 
least, prognostications of truth, and may sometimes lead to 
its discovery. 



LECTURE II. 49 



LECTURE II. 

LIMITS AND ORDERS OF NATURE. 



There is the twilight or dawn, the deep light, the sunrise, 
and the blaze of day. Such is the series of preparatory 
events through which nature, in one department of her 
works, moves forward to the accomplishment of her pur- 
poses. And here what softness and gentleness, and yet 
resolution^ so to speak, do we see in this natural procedure : 
all is graduated^ yet all is decisive. There is nothing hur- 
ried, yet no end is defeated. Again, observe how the winter 
passes into spring, with what contention between heat and 
cold, each meekened in the struggle ; how imperceptibly 
then steals on the summer, and next the maturity of autumn. 
The law is fulfilled, the end of the production of fruit and 
vegetation, and the joy of animated nature is secured, but 
it is through a succession of regulated movements. 

I choose these illustrations, such as are familiar to every 
one, and on a magnificent scale, that it may be distinctly 
recognized that Deity (for there are surely instances of its 
wisdom and works) pursues even its ends according to cer- 
tain established laws; and, although invested with om- 
nipotence, dispenses not with the progress of means, so 
that, step by step, as if it could not otherwise be accom- 
plished, the purposed end is at last effected. It is by this 
visible use of means, and the employment, as it were, of 
tools in the accomplishment of its ends, that the existence 

6 



50 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

of Deity is brought at length within the scope of our appre- 
hensions, and rendered an intimate conviction of our reason, 
It is in this manner that even in nature, after a certain 
sense, and in an obscure degree, Deity seems to be invested 
with attributes of humanity ; condescends to effect its objects 
through arts and instruments and in definite periods of time, 
clothing itself in weakness, so as to meet human apprehen- 
sion, and thereby' elevate human nature; for surely it is 
not an impossible supposition that omnipotence might 
accomplish ends without such profusion of means or such 
delay and tedium in the consummation. We can conceive, 
at least, that food might have been otherwise created, and 
that it might have been perfected in an instant, without this 
vegetative elaboration of many months. Such a supposition, 
or conception, is sometimes necessary to be made, in order 
to fix our attention more vividly on the actual law of nature, 
and particularly on this character of gradation^ or estab- 
lished series, which is perfectly distinct in the physical 
world, but not so much so, because not so well noticed, in 
the intellectual and moral world. But yet it may be seen 
also in the human mind, although the terms to designate it 
are not so easily found nor so happy and expressive. Never- 
theless, the terms sense, fancy, imagination, reason, might 
serve vaguely to describe the progress also of the human 
mind towards its first or natural maturity. And each of 
these also, in their order, is the ground, or continent, of all 
that succeed. Thus sense is the first rude germ or crust of 
the fancy, for fancy is, as it were, the full-fledged bird 
excluded, from the confinements of nature and the limited 
notices of the senses, and soaring aloft unrestrained in the 
luxuries of its new being; then succeeds imagination, a 
more regulated fancy, that emulates the work of reason, 
while it borrows also the hues of its immediate parent; and 
reason, what is that, but the full and perfect development 
at last of all that sense originally contained, fancy deco- 



LECTURE II. 51 

rated, and imagination designed into a thousand forms? 
But reason combines the whole, and from the whole, 
through the light of the supreme Mind, at length deduces 
and establishes her conclusions. Can we say that the pro- 
gression here ends, or that there begins anew the monot- 
onous round? There are auguries of quite the contrary: 
there is the vital spark, the punctum saliens, of a new Being, 
of which each true Man is conscious, which forbids the 
harboring of such unworthy surmises. But not yet is it 
the proper point in our course to refer to or unfold these 
evidences. We must proceed according to a more regulated 
plan. 

But still certain anticipations are necessary ; and, as 
nature shows certain indications of her mature ends, even 
in the earliest spring, in plants, whose buds and germs 
unfold themselves ere yet the snows have fled, so it were 
right also to take occasional and premature glances of cer- 
tain advanced parts of a subject, in order that our progress 
towards the end may be the more cheerful and unerring. 

On this account I opened many topics in the last lecture 
rather discursively, choosing thus to take a view, wide at 
least, although a dim one, of the many bearings of our 
subject. 

And to recapitulate some of these may not be amiss ; 
a fresh view may discover new features, or make a more 
natural and genuine impression of the whole. 

The extent and vastness of the subject was shown. That 
man in the popular sense was the theme, not the rational 
man of philosophy, but the natural man of all ages and 
nations, — man, an undivided being, but naturally composed 
of body and soul, — seen in material grandeur embodied to 
the eye of sense, in spiritual grandeur to the eye of Faith, 
but a man in either case, not a mental phantom, which 
philosophy would make of him, — the Greek, Eoman, or 
Scotch, whose abstractions are not worth any attention. 



52 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

That of this man, so beheld, — that is, incorporated, and sur- 
rounded with the trophies of his actions, the living and 
visible memorials of his power, — the contemplation was 
sublime, for it is a true image of Deity which we behold. 
That the number and extent of his arts, the tokens of his 
skill, the vestiges or wrecks of his plans, and the scope of 
his intelligence, as reviewed on the page of history, seem 
utterly amazing and beyond all computation, but yet as 
nothing in contrast with that creative Wisdom, and the 
signs of it, and their number, which are lavished so gloriously 
and so strikingly on the constitution of his frame. That 
therefore the skill of Man has not yet transposed into his 
history the millionth part of that art, and that intelligence 
alone, of which his own body is the transcript ; and that 
he for whose material form merely so much has been done, 
and who has himself done so little in comparison, may still 
be looked upon as not having exhausted even the infini- 
tesimal part of all his resources. That therefore, although 
there is much behind, there is still more before ; the variety 
and intricacy of the arts of design expressed in the body 
is a prophecy and pledge of this. That still this variety is 
one, and felt as such by our consciousness, and so entire is 
this sense of oneness or unity that we have no natural or 
instinctive impression whatever of the number of organs 
and functions in the interior of our frame. That we become 
acquainted with these by experience and through science, 
and that science even yet has made but little progress in 
revealing or expounding them ; but there are the summa 
fastigia rerum, — some of the most striking features or even 
the general systems of the animal economy revealed ; that 
these constitute, to those who read them, the literal texts 
of this part of the sacred Scripture of Nature, — the gospel 
of Grod according to the animal kingdom, — which we could 
never have known but by actual inspection : that it has its 
own peculiar laws or order impressed upon it which are 



LECTURE II. 53 

certain to be found wherever the animal kingdom extends, 
and, having discovered the general type of these laws in 
one or two instances, we can predict with certainty in 
regard to others. That therefore the inductive philosophy 
of Bacon reigns supreme here, as in every other department 
of nature, — re vel mente observamus, — our observation 
extends to the facts or the laws of the facts logically 
inferred. But that the system of laws cannot be trans- 
ferred from their place in one department of nature to 
explain or declare what must be those which prevail in 
another, that wherever the animal kingdom extends the 
type of its known laws may always be expected to be 
found ; but to look for them also in the mineral kingdom, 
or other province of nature toto coelo distinct, is preposterous 
and contrary to the spirit of rational inquiry; each division 
of nature has its own laws, as each animal has its own form ; 
this vaulting philosophy is therefore to be avoided, nor must 
we seek analogies unless where nature has clearly estab- 
lished them. The absurdity of it may be seen in the ideas 
of some of the G-reek philosophers, that the earth is an 
animal, and the stars intelligent : all this is preposterous. 

I next adverted to the creation of the human being, as a 
kind of type or natural illustration of the true method of 
philosophizing, or the necessity of it ; for although during 
the formation of the body, while it is entirely under the 
divine Hands, and not yet delivered over to the possessor 
by the First Artist, the j^rogress of mystic and ineffable 
creation be from what is prior to what is posterior, a priore 
ad posterius, the brain being the former, the lungs the latter, 
yet after birth, when the golden age has ceased and the iron 
age commences, the order is reversed, at least apparently, so 
that the brain seems now to depend on the lungs for vital 
action, although at first it was evidently otherwise. The 
same reversed order is now also established in the senses; 
the material contacts of objects are made ih.Q first occasions 

5* 



54 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

through which the latent powers of reason and understand- 
ing are excited, and he who attempts to act independent of 
matter or natural experience, by a mere spiritual intuition, 
is running counter to the stern laws which the Deity has 
appointed for the government of the world, at least in this 
terrestrial sphere. That, therefore, the first obscure rudi- 
ments of thinking and feehng must be laid in every one 
within the domains of external nature, that the eye has to 
be moulded to perfect vision, and the ear conformed to dis- 
tinct sound, and the touch and all the other senses to be 
brought into harmony and just correspondence with their 
appropriate objects^ ere reason can obtain a place, on which 
even her foot may rest, in the external constitution of Man ; 
bat that after this preparation of the way the greater and 
nobler powers of his mind are unfolded, — those spiritual 
energies, namely, which were constituted in the very dawn 
of his being, in the golden age of his existence. Thus, 
reasoning, then, is still to all appearance in every man a 
posteriore ad prius, from an effect to its cause, from sensible 
objects to ideas ; but yet in reality, and in just language, all 
reasoning, essentially such, is a priore ad posterius, from 
within to without, from ideas to objects. This will be 
obscure to some, but farther explanation would be tedious. 
And perhaps it will clear up the whole matter, simply to 
remark, that the appearance that respiration, the external 
action of the lungs, controls the whole body even to the 
heart and brain, w^hich would be an instance of a vital 
action proceeding a posteriore ad prius, is in fact fallacious, 
and that the truth is just the reverse, — namely, that it is 
the brain itself which through nerves of respiration con- 
trols every act of breathing, and that, too, whether we be 
asleep or awake. Awake we can retain our breathing ad 
libitum, or direct it to the various acts of speech ; in sleep 
appropriate nerves discharge a similar function. In fact, 
then, pulmonic life, even although it appears not so at first, 



LECTURE II. 55 

is still under the government of cerebral life, and hence 
results that concordia discors, that reconciliation of apparent 
contradictions which not only in this department of nature, 
but in many others besides, shines forth so conspicuousl}^. 

Such is a brief summary of the main ideas of our first 
lecture. I now proceed to another topic, — some of the more 
general points of obvious distinction between man and the 
animal creation, and also the outward tokens by which this 
last stands marked off from the mere mechanical or inert 
parts of nature. And here I must premise that the subject 
may seem dry ; but yet it cannot be such to those who will 
fix their attention on the things themselves; for the great 
limits and outlines of external creation are replete with 
interest, and none of them disconnected with the natural 
history of Man, the general design of these lectures. For, 
according to the most obvious imj)ort of the sacred Scrip- 
tures, the earth itself was created and reduced into order 
and form for the sake of its last and noblest inhabitant, 
man ; and it is therefore reasonable to expect that every- 
thing on its surface bears some reference to him, to his use 
or his convenience, to the perfection of his body or the still 
nobler end of exalting and perfecting his mind. A mere 
superficial glance, therefore, of nature is hardly worthy of 
us, but we should read it, as we read our Bibles, over and 
over again ; and even when unsuccessful, still return with 
fresh hope to the perusal. 

It is said to have been Pythagoras, about five hundred 
years before the Christian era, who first bestowed upon 
the visible universe that expressive name, in the Greek 
language 6 xoff/ioq, that is, order, — emphatically the order ; 
and the fine genius of his countrymen and their almost in- 
stinctive perceptions of propriety led them ever afterwards 
to retain this appellation, 6 xofffxoq, the order, as we com- 
monly translate the world. The Eomans called the same 
mundus, in which their language originally signified orna- 



56 NATURAL HISTORY OF 3IAN, 

me7it or dress, in allusioD probably to the profusion and 
variety of natural objects of beauty; hence the French 
have le monde. But the Greeks originated the true name, 
THE order; and the Platonic school afterwards, withdraw- 
ing their attention from general nature, and fixing it on the 
epitome, Man, began to call him 6 p-upoq zodiioq, the mina- 
ture world, or order in minature. There is much useful 
and instructive history in the origin of words, for before 
a general name can be given to any class of ideas they 
must have been often and much before the mind. It 
is some encouragement for us, therefore, to think that 
these same subjects which we are now investigating, 
however meagre may be our success, are such as em- 
ployed, two thousand two hundred years ago, such minds 
as those of Pythagoras or of Plato. They did not dis- 
dain, although the subject might be repulsive to their 
contemporaries, to inquire into the great limits and classes 
of nature, and what were their specific distinctions, and 
what the everlasting and solid criteria by which they were, 
recognizable; and what the, subordinations and concords 
of things that reigned in the universe ; and what analogies 
there are in mechanical, in animal, and in human opera- 
tions, and in what respect these differ, and from what 
cause these analogies are not identities. Let us humbly 
pursue the same track, nor think it dry. 

There is a general resemblance between the human body 
and the body of the brutal animals. This general resem- 
blance constitutes what is called the type, or standard, 
according to which they are each formed. But the resem- 
blance is quite general, and of the body; and we shall 
suffer ourselves to be perplexed needlessly if we fall in 
with many vague speculations on this subject; among 
which is this one, — a favorite theory of those who would 
degrade Man from his established supremacy over nature, 
— that man is but a superior animal at the head of the 



LECTURE II. 57 

scale, and not toto coelo distinct from the other animal 
creation. 

By such foolish theories has the whole face of nature 
been darkened, speculations not deduced from the correct 
reading of the book of nature (the second Word, the 
second in point of value, but the first in point of time), — 
not deduced, I say, from the correct reading of the letter 
of nature, or, in other words, not founded on induction 
and observation, but in imagined analogies drawn from the 
fancies of the system-makers. And thus, as there have 
been philosophers who have regarded Man as but one of 
the nobler animals, so there have also been philosophers 
who have considered animals themselves as a species of 
animated machines, — Descartes, it is said, entertained some- 
thing of this notion, — not conceiving that animals were 
endowed with true sensibility, but that those appearances 
of sensation which we recognize in them are the mere 
exhibitions of certain mechanical principles under new 
circumstances. Again, the different organs of the animal 
body — such as the liver, the spleen, the glands of different 
kinds, salivary, lachrymal, and so forth — are nothing more 
than natural chemical laboratories, in the view of their 
science and philosophy; and the heart, according to the 
same theory, is a natural forcing-pump, a kind of steam- 
engine or water-works, to supply this human city withal 
with the necessary quantum of blood or fluid; and the 
arteries and veins are the conduit-pijDes, a part of this 
hydraulic apparatus, for accomplishing the grand circula- 
tion; and, again, the lungs are a sort of natural bellows, 
boj^n, not made (let us do them justice), the heaving of the 
ribs a part of their play, so that a due quantity of air may 
always be supplied to the various parts of the machinery, 
especially as, among its other uses, it seems also to dis- 
charge the functions of a grand furnace, in keeping up a 
proper degree of warmth in the vital blood. And they 



58 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

proceed next to the external of the body, and show you 
an evident series of mechanical contrivances in the move- 
ments of the various joints and limbs, the muscles (the 
pulleys), and the bones (the levers), and proceed forthwith 
to calculate with great mathematical precision the amount 
of force exerted on each muscle, and to demonstrate to 
you the relation between the size of the muscle in every 
instance and the office to be performed by it. Now, 
what does all this demonstration mean ? does it go to 
prove that an animal is a machine? No sound thinker 
views it in that light; but perhaps the very illustra- 
tions employed obscure our true idea of an animal, and 
divert the mind from the thing itself to the circumstances 
that characterize it. After all this investigation of the 
animal frame, and exhibition of its several parts, and indi- 
cation of their uses, and description of their organs, — 
designating some as mechanical and some as chemical in 
their character, and all as acting according to certain 
known laws, with which some of our own works also 
agree, — we have still to come to our original impression, 
to our first idea, and to say, this is an animal, a living 
creature; and such, on examination, are found to be the 
scientific indications of its existence and character among 
created things. These serve to describe it and to identify 
it to those who have previously known it, or would 
wish to see it; but all these chemical and mechanical 
insignia are not the animal, any more than the letters 
which compose the name Gteorge Washington are the 
man, although they may serve to call up the idea of him to 
those who have known or heard of him, — to point him 
out among the living or the illustrious dead. Accordingly, 
then, as we may say that an individual might still have a 
distinct and true idea of George Washington, although he 
could not spell his name, so the peasant, although he has 
never analyzed an animal or taken the bones of its skeleton 



LECTURE II. 59 

in pieces or traced the internal organs, still knows just 
as well what an animal is as the most profound philoso- 
pher ; and that philosopher never could convince him that 
an animal was a machine, or a mere complication of ma- 
chineries, endowed with spontaneous voluntary motion; 
he would tell him, if he could find words to express his 
natural and unsophisticated perception, that these were 
indeed the products of the scientific analysis of that object 
called an animal, but that the animal itself, in its divine unity 
or idea, was a very different thing from those mere character- 
istics which science would read on it and note down in her 
book. An unlettered rustic would be better pleased with 
some of the philosophy of Plato on this subject — his doctrine, 
namely, of ideas, that the living things of nature are the 
original types of thoughts of the Deity, and therefore unde- 
finable — than to be told that they are merely those things 
which modern science is disposed to consider them, — an 
assemblage of certain material, mechanical, chemical or 
otherwise sensible, actings ; these are the signa of the 
things, but not the things. 

What, then, is the proper manner of viewing this whole 
subject? For let us not be misled either by the fanciful 
philosophy of Plato or the sensual speculations of modern 
times ; but let us endeavor to embrace both the wisdom of 
the ancients and the science of our own days. Under 
what light, then, shall we consider the subject of animal 
life, or of animals generally ? Evidently this : they pre- 
sent a series of laws of order which are entirely peculiar 
to themselves and to this department of nature, and which 
never could have been conjectured by an}^ philosopher, and 
to be understood and known must be seen, and when seen 
constitute a fresh fount of living knowledge, as pure and 
unsullied and perfect in the mind of the peasant as in the 
mind of the. philosopher; the essential facts or native 
truths themselves are but the derivations and expansions 



60 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

of them ; in a word, the science differs widely in either 
case. The peasant stops short, for the most part, at the 
first idea ; he never stirs, or but rarely, from the primal 
truth, — the fount ; he is satisfied to know that " an animal 
is an animal," — he says " it is an animal" without farther 
comment, and this is saying a great deal, and indeed every- 
thing, for the whole is contained in that one idea, in that 
divine name. This is truth ; the rest is science, which the 
philosopher disengages, unravels, and brings to view ; and 
what does he do which the other does not? He shows 
that this new and original order of nature, which is called 
animal life, is separated indeed from that below it by a 
discrete interval, so that neither mechanism nor chemistry 
can by any possibility ever become animal, by any combi- 
nation or subtlety ; it were easier for a camel to pass 
through the eye of a needle than such a thing to take 
place. I^ature has not so negligently guarded her fron- 
tiers that one department of her dominions shall encroach 
upon another. Among the ancients Terminus was a god, 
and they knew what they meant when they attributed 
deity to Terminus; limits are so sacred a thing in nature 
that nothing can be more so ; they are almost — they are 
altogether divine ; and curse and execration and sterility 
and disgrace will await even that mixture of races in the 
human kingdom the sacred limits of which ought never 
to have been violated. I say, then, that the sound philos- 
opher will perceive at a glance that no combination what- 
ever of mechanical or chemical agencies will ever deserve 
the name of animal action. "What then ? would we infer 
that there is nothing either chemical or mechanical in the 
actions of the animal body? No, but that no single action 
therein ought to be styled either mechanical or chemical, 
unless in a subordinate sense, but animal, according to that 
maxim in which wisdom is wrapped up in a proverb, qui 
facit per alteram facit ipse, he who does it through another 



LECTURE II. 61 

does it himself; everything that is done in the animal body 
is done through the animal, through the voluntary animal 
or the involuntary animal; all, therefore, is animal. This 
is the supreme, this is the controlling idea, — the animal 
alone is through all its actions ; the laws of chemistry, the 
laws of mechanism, are held in perfect and absolute sub- 
serviency, they are the servants of the animal, they are 
put under its feet, — they hold no supremacy over the 
animal, but the animal holds supremacy over them. It is 
a law of mechanical nature that a body at rest remains at 
rest until acted upon by a force directed upon it. The 
body of an animal is at rest, — the ox, suppose (the body 
of the ox), reposes in the meadow ; according to the laws 
of mechanics, he would retain that position, continue to 
repose ; but the animal disdains the law, controls or renders 
it obsequious, — he rises up, he moves, — what a mystery 
seems that self-motion ! Philosophers inquire into the laws 
of the motion of the planets, — can they tell the laws ac- 
cording to which that mass of organized matter moves 
along that meadow ? The peasant can give the same an- 
swer as the philosopher, and the philosopher can give no 
better than this, the animal moves because he is an animal. 
Is the motion mechanical? No, it is animal. Is it in 
violation of mechanical laws ? No, for the higher depart- 
ments of nature never break down the lower departments 
thereof; it is not in violation of mechanical laws, therefore, 
but according to them, but the motion is animal, never- 
theless, for it is the animal that walks. 

At this point let us review and sum up. The amount, 
then, is this : that there are certain chemical and mechanical 
laws in nature, or, in other words, there are laws of order 
impressed by the fiat of omnipotence on those lowest de- 
partments of nature which we call the mineral, or organized, 
and the vegetable ; these laws are supreme as respects their 
own subjects, but they are circumscribed by very unequiv- 

6 



62 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

ocal and palpable boundaries. "Hitherto shalt thou go 
and no farther," is the precept enjoined on each of them. 
What then ? Superinduced upon these is another order of 
laws, and a distinct department of nature, called the animal 
kingdom. We talk of links of a grand chain, but there are 
no links (be it remembered) drawn so close, or so cemented 
together, that these three things, a mineral, a vegetable, an 
animal, are ever confounded together. It is true, certain 
objects may be of such characters that our science, and 
skill, and judgment may be nonplussed, and we may not be 
able to say whether this object be a mineral or a vegetable, 
or that other a vegetable or an animal ; but all this is the 
dulness and obtuseness of our senses or perceptions, not the 
confusion of nature. Although we cannot see between the 
links, are we to conclude that they are cemented, or, even 
if cemented, may they not be two distinct links still, seem- 
ing to touch and yet not touching ? In a word, there are 
laws of dead nature and of living nature, of organized 
nature and of animal nature; and here, then, is the grand 
principle, fact, or law, which I beg of this audience espe- 
cially to remark, that when inert organized matter, whether 
animal or vegetable, exists alone or by itself, its own laws 
are supreme over itself, and uncontrolled ; but when the 
animal kingdom is built on the vegetable and mineral king- 
dom, or built /rom it, that the laws of the animal kingdom, 
which are sui generis, are supreme and uncontrolled, but 
such, however, as do not destroy the other, the chemical or 
mechanical laws, but so use them, at all times and in all 
parts, as to render them entirely subservient (without at 
all violating them) to the great ends and objects and uses 
of this nobler order of things, this animal nature, or animal 
kingdom. This is a beautiful instance of nature's subordi- 
nation being maintained, without the infringement of 
nature's peace : the animal laws are supreme, and yet the 
chemical or mechanical laws are not violated ; nay, through 



LECTURE II. 63 

the influence of animal domination, they are made to exe- 
cute some of their nicest and most successful evolutions, so 
that nowhere are mechanical characteristics more interest- 
ing and grand than in this department of nature ; and a 
geometry and a species of dynamics are exhibited in the 
actions of the muscles, which the more they are examined 
the more astonishing they appear; and it is probable that 
chemistry never acts so illustrious a part or so signalizes 
her powers as when she acts under the dominion and con- 
trolling influence of animal life. Thus nature is ever most 
beautiful in her acts of subserviency and obedience. The 
chemistry of the inert portions of the globe are incon- 
spicuous and vile in comparison with that which is done at 
the bidding of nature in the animal frame ; and even those 
mechanical laws which are read in the movements of the 
heavenly bodies, although sublimely simple, and on that 
account only the more admirable, yet in intricacy and 
number of adjustments, all bearing successfully on one 
point, fall much short of those displayed in the disposition 
and movements of the muscles of the human hand alone, to 
say nothing of other parts of the body. 

The subject has excited the attention and admiration of 
all, from the most rude to the most scientific understanding, 
For although the anatomist can best unfold these wonders 
of natural art, yet they are not altogether hidden even 
from the most superficial observer, ^ay, even the infant, 
in the very dawn of its intellect and delighted wonder, is 
observed to be especially attracted by the tender and delicate 
movements of its own tiny hands and fingers. And Cicero 
cannot restrain the expression of his admiration : Quam vero 
aptas, quamque multarum artium ministras manus natura 
homini dedit. Digitorum enim contractio facilis, facilisque 
porrectio propter molles commissuras et artus, nuUo in motu 
laborat. Itaque ad pingendum, ad fingendum, ad scalpen- 
dum, ad nervorum eliciendos sonos ac tibiarum, apta manus 



64 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

est, admotione digitorum. How perfect must that mechan- 
ism be which even in the gracefulness of its outward ex- 
hibitions, without a profound knowledge of its principles, 
allures the gaze of the infant, and fixes the astonishment 
of the most eloquent of men ! But, in truth, it is not the 
mechanism, but the vitality which is rendered conspicuous 
therein, which thus enchants and delights and detains the 
mind in the contemplation of it, 

I have shown, then, a subordination of the laws of inert 
matter to the laws of animal life : you will now be prepared 
to see the grand fallacy that is palmed off upon superficial 
thinkers by a certain class of philosophers. I mentioned, 
when I began my lecture, that some philosophers delight 
in placing Man at the head of the animal kingdom, assign- 
ing him an honorable niche, apparently, but, at the same 
time, actually degrading him, by obscuring, through this 
classification, the true idea of his dignity, and of his unap- 
proached and unapproachable unity. Man has no more 
business essentially to be classed with animals than animals 
have to be classed with machines or vegetables. It is true, 
man exhibits in his bodily motions, and the analogies of his 
structure, all the semblances and even most of the realities 
of animal life ; but so do animals themselves show on their 
muscles and all their joints the mechanical traits, nay, in 
outward name, the very mechanical powers, while the pro- 
ducts of other organs are of chemical phenomena. But 
what then ? Do you divest the animal of its animal dig- 
nity and relative grandeur on these accounts ? Nay ; rather, 
the true nobleness of animal life, above other organized 
matter, seems to be enhanced the more for that it can call 
such powerful ministers as chemistry and mechanism to its 
service, and yet still preserve itself, still be itself, nobly and 
distinctively animal. And in parity of reasoning, if that 
order of nature next to God and his image which we call 
Human Nature, in virtue of its own laws, which take the 



LECTURE II. 65 

name of moral truths — if Man, I say, in conscious virtue 
and freedom, bold and earnest and faithful, through and in 
consequence of those laws which are peculiar to him alone, 
of all creation besides, can not only subdue and govern the 
chemical and mechanical laws in his own body, but even 
the higher laws of animal life itself, so as to render them 
obedient to moral and human laws, obedient but yet not 
extinguished, is he on that account to be reckoned no better 
of than as the supreme animal ? — when yet it is not animal 
laws in him which render him supreme, but human laws, 
which are denominated moral truths, or, with more pro- 
priety, revealed truths, for such indeed they are, and from 
the Deity himself. 

Wherefore I note the following orders in nature, all un- 
equivocal, all connected, but not blended, — if a chain, the 
links at least free, and each of its own cast and substance. 
First, the Mineral; second, the Yegetable; third, the 
Animal ; fourth, the Human. 

You may object to the terms, and indeed they are not 
such as I desiderate, but our language offers no popular 
terms more explicit ; and they will be sufficient if they lead 
the mind to discover and to see distinctly the broad and 
deep lines which the hand of the Creator has here drawn, 
ineffaceable and clear unless when a mist of words and 
abstract speculations obscure the sacred boundaries. But 
while there is here the most perfect distinction, there is on 
the part of each higher order also an obvious assumption 
of the apparent attributes of the lower ; and it takes place 
in a very remarkable manner. 

Thus, if the Yegetable assume or take on the Mineral, 
in any semblance of structure, it is only that it may dis- 
tinguish itself, as it were, the more in rendering that which 
is seemingly foreign to itself, entirely its own. 

And so in respect to the Animal, in its relations to the 
two lower orders ; if ever invested with the attributes or 

6* 



66 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

accidents of these, it is only that the Animal may be the 
more conspicuous, in having made these, which are chemical, 
mechanical, or merely organical, also Animal. 

And, lastly, when the Human assumes to itself the 
Animal, and in that the two inferior orders, and so bears 
and represents in itself the three kingdoms of nature, it is 
only the more to signalize its own supremacy in rendering 
the Animal human, with all its circumstances and accidents, 
so that, at last, in Man — the image at once of earth and 
heaven, of God and nature — there is not a single thing 
which is not altogether and unequivocally human ; man, 
man, man is written on the whole and every part, soul, 
mind, and body ; and yet the external lettering is of animal 
configuration, — but that, too, is human. 

What a field of beauty and magnificence this considera- 
tion opens to our view, almost untrodden ; but I dare not 
enter it with sandalled feet, it is " holy ground." But in 
these facts, and types of creation, an elevated mind will 
see an image of the cardinal mystery of the Christian 
religion, " God manifested in the flesh," — a truth above the 
sphere of the senses, within the region of faith ; but why 
it should be considered irrational or inapprehensible I can- 
not perceive, when the very shadoio of it is visible on the 
constitution of nature itself. 

I have now, then, definitely brought out the rational and 
sound view of this whole matter, touching the relation of 
man to the animal creation, and shall not pursue the subject 
farther in this direction, as it would bear me remote from 
the design of these lectures, on grounds purely theological. 

Observe, then, we do not deny that animals exhibit in 
their structures mechanical and chemical appliances : nay, 
you may say that all that meets the eye is of that aspect : 
and neither do we deny that man also exhibits the animal 
in his body; but as chemistry and mechanics are but the 
ministers of the animal, so the animal itself in man is but 



LECTURE II. 67 

the minister of man ; and in the case of animals, to speak 
truly, notwithstanding chemistry and mechanics, all is really 
animal ; and in the case of man, notwithstanding the animal, 
all is really human. 

But let us advert to a few particulars ; and in the body 
of man we have sufficiently marked the supremacy of the 
human over the animal. And these indications are on every 
part of the body : the head and its elevation, the erect pos- 
ture, that majesty of countenance, those eyes that disdain 
the ground, and, in the natural plane of vision, cut midway 
between earth and heaven, as if, in his natural unbiased 
freedom, he stood' between passion and reason, as moral 
choice impelled to raise his head erect to heaven, or incline 
it downward to the earth. But I omit all these character- 
istics, as perfectly obvious, and fix your attention on three 
points, — the hand, the powers of the lungs, and the position 
of the mouth. Mark, first, the position of the mouth : it 
is retracted as much as possible from animal purposes ; it 
is drawn inward almost underneath the beetling brows, on 
which brows and forehead are indented the majesty of 
thought or the serenity of goodness ; beneath, sweetly 
cowers the mouth, withdrawn almost from animal purposes, 
or it should be, and dedicated to expression, — of love, and 
tenderness, and wisdom. Observe in the animals the mouth 
travels away from under the protection and shield of the 
forehead — and most immodestly and greedily — to seek for 
food ; it is not in them the organ of expression, — it is not 
dedicated to the lungs especially, as in man, and that musical 
instrument the larynx, — but it seems to be devoted almost 
exclusively to the stomach, and to the oesophagus, or gullet ; 
the mouth in animals and even the tongue are the slaves of 
their animalism ; that is the supreme and reigning intention 
seen in their prominences and formation. On the contrary, 
in man the mouth and tongue are noble subjects of the 
lungs, and these of the brain, on which sits the mind invested 



68 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

with a garment of light : the tongue and the mouth conse- 
quently are aj^propriated to expression, — to minister food to 
reason and the affections, in song and sweet discourse, — 

" For eloquence the soul, song charms the sense," 

and this not for herself, but for others ; here is the attribute 
of benevolence enthroned on the mouth and tongue, as the 
instruments of speech and mutual intercourse ; no wonder 
the Scotch bard should celebrate in his mistress 

" Her wee bit mou' sae sweet and bonnie." 

Such is the human dignity of the mouth, the lips, and 
tongue ; you see it is a mere lateral and subordinate inten- 
tion of these organs in man, and not the principal, that 
they are also used as in animals, for the purposes of masti- 
cation, deglutition, and the conveyance of nourishment ; 
and our reason tells us that these acts, although necessary, 
are only not forbidden, but that the passage that leads to 
the lungs, the larynx, and trachea, is the glorious highway 
in man of speech and reason — whose tremulous chords 
vibrate music ; in short, the lungs with all their channels 
of varied utterance, their wind and stringed instruments 
(for the larynx and trachea are both), that sounding-board, 
the cranium, that articulating hammer, the tongue, and all 
that complicated play and accordance of the mouth and 
lips, conspire to render that outward tablet, on which his 
life is impressed and made vocal and distinct, not unworthy 
to be the substitute of that perfect brain, on which it was 
all first inscribed on the golden morn of his earlier creation, 
ere yet the atmosphere had greeted those lungs with its 
first rude welcome. 

"VYith the lungs and their varied movements is connected 
the subject of language or expression, which, in its varied 
forms and essays in different nations and through a series 



LECTURE II. by 

of ages, will form bo uninteresting subject, I hope, of some 
future lecture. It is by his voice and his hand that man 
stands pre-eminently distinguished, and in both you see the 
types of his reason, his proper humanity. 

Man has a hand, animals but anterior extremities, which, 
however, correspond with the hand, and much more than 
perhaps most persons are aware of. 

I show you here the foreleg and foot of the horse,- you 
can apply the observations to the analogous parts of other 
animals. As I count the parts and comj^are them with 
those of the human arm and hand, you will remark the 
striking correspondence. 

You see herein an impressive illustration of the position 
in our last lecture, — that the essential type of order is never 
abandoned, under analogous conditions of existence, but 
only, as the ends require, variously modified. Assume in 
this instance (the assumption is warrantable) the human 
hand to be the essential type, the absolute and perfect model, 
towards which all the other designs have tended as to the 
consummation of the grand wish of nature, and you will 
see a series of modifications of the most beautiful and inter- 
esting description. And the following points I think will 
be conspicuous : 

1. That the parts correspondent with the human hand 
in each creature are defined by, and reflective of, its in- 
stincts ; and as these imply a certain fixed determination 
of the life of the animal towards certain ends or objects, 
so those instruments are exclusively adapted to the accom- 
plishment of those ends and objects, and none other. 

2. That the human hand — also reflective of the human 
soul, and, as it were, the material attribute of the reason — 
is wholly unconfined, free, and undetermined in its aptitudes 
and functions, unless it be to follow and obey the con- 
stantly new and original suggestions of an enlightened 
and progressive mind. If we adopt the comparison of a 



70 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

tool, it is the universal tool, or tool of tools, while the 
analogous j^arts of animals are fitted for the achievement 
of but one or two uses only. 

3. Each is equally perfect in its kind; but the perfection 
of the one is universal and catholic, that of the other 
exclusive and specific. 

I refer you to nature for facts in illustration, which are 
abundant and at hand. What need to specify them? 

In these three, then, the lungs, the mouth, and the hands, 
you see striking parts of Man's natural history ; you see 
the light of his inward being, as it were, illuminating his 
outward form, and pointing out his members, both vocal 
and formative, as intended to embody those uses which 
administer to the strength of his reason and the diffusion 
of benevolence, rather than such as are gross, tending to 
the senses only. Let the noble works performed by his 
hand, and the beautiful languages once moulded by his 
tongue and cast in enduring record, — all of which are 
intended to be subjects of our historical sketches hereafter, 
— testify to the divine perfection of those physical instru- 
ments in his body which the Hand of infinite VYisdom and 
Benevolence has so gloriously fashioned and adorned. 



LECTURE III. 71 



LECTURE III. 

LANGUAGE: ITS ORIGIN AND USE, 



Geometry and arithmetic are attributes of nature, re- 
vealed in every part of the material universe, in mechanical 
or chemical phenomena; and are to us the signs or indi- 
cations of the grand natural laws or principles according 
to which the whole has been constructed. But the sciences 
of these are only the shadows of those divine exemplars 
which the order of nature exhibits. Our science is indeed 
but a certain small territory, taken in and fenced off from 
a vast and unlimited region reserved for future discovery. 
Eut just so far only as we have cultivated science are we 
capable of pointing out in nature the physical reason of the 
arrangement and adaptation of organs, or instruments for 
the accomplishment of natural ends. Our knowledge of 
the mechanical powers, for instance, of the composition and 
resolution of forces, and their results, renders us capable of 
seeing the reason of the origin and insertion, the contour 
and arrangement, of many of the muscles of the human 
body, and of the more general proportions observed in the 
magnitude, strength, and forms of the bones. Popular 
books are full of these instances of design, as they are cor- 
rectly termed ; but it is not so often noticed that there must 
be an infinite number of mechanical adjustments of which 
our acquired science, the shadow of the divine or archetypal 
science, does not suggest to us even the most distant hint. 



72 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

Nay, it is probable that there are even certain kinds of 
science, as distinct from any we yet know, as, for example, 
geometry is from chemistry, of which, of course, we can- 
not speak, because we cannot even form an idea; although 
we may recognize the possibility, at least, of the existence 
of such, — ^recondite, and latent, and visible as yet only to 
the divine eye. Such sciences, as respects mankind, have 
yet to be. But of those which exist, the sciences of number 
and measurement, the cultivation is still extremely limited, 
and therefore much m.ore of the divine arithmetic and 
divine geometry may be yet expected to fall within the 
apprehension of the human mind ; and then, no doubt, the 
natural reason of many more of those adjustments in the 
animal body will be brought to light, as well as of many 
facts, still obscure, in other departments of nature. For 
example, who can doubt that there is a natural reason (I 
mean a geometrical and arithmetical one) for the number as 
well as the established proportions of the fingers of the 
human hand? there is a recondite calculus here, which will 
require the ingenuity and powers of some future Leibnitz 
or E"ewton to unfold ; and, when it is unfolded, will not the 
science of the Divine Mind, as it were, become more con- 
spicuous, and fresh grounds be adduced for our confidence 
in the wisdom as well as the goodness of the Creator ? And 
what discoveries yet to be made in astronomy ! — is there 
not also an arithmetical reason (resulting, of course, from a 
creative provision) for that precise number of revolutions 
on its axis which the earth makes in its annual path ? But 
it seems to me that there is some science totally new and 
purely original to be extricated from nature, that labyrinth 
of infinite art, ere we can obtain a glimpse of the 7iatural 
reason for the structure and arrangement of the parts of 
the brain and the entire nervous system. On this field as 
yet total darkness rests ; and here, although we may adore 
a wisdom, it is a wisdom which is unknown, in its natural 



LECTURE III. 73 

laws, in this instance. But gleams of light will yet be cast 
upon it ; the humble and assiduous inquirer will discover 
some relation between this unknown and the known. The 
Divine Providence suffered not the Athenians to worship 
always at the altar of '' an unknown god." When there is 
a right desire, and untiring industry, there will at length 
be the reward of light. 

But I have alluded as jQt only to the phj^sical or scientific 
system of the universe, and hinted how immense the field 
of discovery, how few the points yet ascertained, and how 
scattered the cheerful rays which exhibit to us the general 
outlines of its magnificence. 

But there is another system of which the physical or 
scientific is but the basis ; I mean the divine moral system. 

And here also we have attained as yet but to a few hints, 
but these indeed of the most valuable and cheering kind. 
Our ideas and modes or rules of justice are also but the 
faint images or impressions of that which is revealed to us 
in the book of God's providence : but his justice infinitely 
exceeds ours, and hence there are many of its steps and 
proceedings, much of its order and arrangement, which 
entirely frustrates our utmost stretch of moral science to 
unravel or satisfactorily to explain. There are here moral 
enigmata, just as difficult to solve, to our limited moral 
science, as the mechanical or scientific problems in the 
structure of the living frame are hard or even impossible to 
account for with our present scientific attainments. From 
what recondite principles of essential and absolute justice 
it results, that so many animals should live on the destruc- 
tion of others, is just as hard to explain as it would be to 
calculate and determine why all the muscles that act on the 
five fingers should have those precise relations and adjust- 
ments which they do have, and no other. It is indeed easy 
to discover in this instance a few principles whose tenden- 
cies are understood, but so numerous and varied are the 

7 



74 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

data which enter into the solution of the problem that, 
while we feel and acknowledge the perfection of the grand 
result, we are totally unable to trace the natural steps by 
which it has been accomplished. We can only discover that 
the work, even perfect as it is (and its perfection is rather 
enhanced than obscured by this consideration), is effected 
on essential principles of science, although as yet very 
imperfectly known to us. And it is certainly a most inter- 
esting consideration that the principles of moral justice and 
of physical science should in this respect agree ; that, while 
both are alike fixed and indispensable, the one in the moral, 
the other in the physical world, yet at the same time the 
operations and results of each in the grand theatre of the 
universe should be equally difficult of explanation, involved 
in similar obscurity and perplexity. 

But in the scrutiny of the moral department of the uni- 
verse are we condemned forever to be at fault, always to 
fall short of that truth which we so ardently desire ? is 
progress here impossible, or have we already reached the 
goal of discovery? ]^o more, I apprehend, than we can 
be supposed to have reached the limit of natural or physi- 
cal discovery. The mines of nature have not been ex- 
hausted, whether of natural or moral knowledge, nor have 
the human faculties become enfeebled, unless by a voluntary 
despair. Only moral knowledge has to be sought from the 
word of God, scientific knowledge from the works of God. 

But as natural knowledge of the works of God seems 
to be extended and strengthened mainly by the applica- 
tion of such knowledge to the arts and inventions of life, 
— what Bacon calls " fruits," — and true theory is seen to 
advance just in proportion that previous discoveries have 
been usefully applied, as our knowledge of the natural 
structure of the eye is enlivened and enlarged by the appli- 
cation of its principles to the construction of telescopes, so 
just in the degree in which we reduce the known princi- 



LECTURE III. 75 

pies of justice and virtue and honor to practice, in the 
perfection of social and civil institutions, in that same 
degree will new and original views, and as just and satis- 
factory as they are original, be disclosed to us of the prin- 
ciples of the moral government of the universe, and its 
magnificent and sublime details, from that written Word 
in which they lie treasured up, for the admiration and 
delight and use of future generations of mankind, far 
better and wiser, we can readily suppose, than any that 
have yet appeared. 

Seeing, then, so wide a field spre8.d out before us, spiritual 
(so to speak) as well as natural, let us be encouraged to 
proceed. Only let us recollect that we must look in each 
field but for those products which it is designed to afford. 
Let us not seek science or natural history in the book of 
spiritual and moral revelation, or vainly expect to find in 
nature a light which is not originally in her, but derived 
and reflected. 'Nature reflects the light of revelation, but 
only as the moon that of the sun. But in her the mild 
light of science inheres and is grateful to our natural sight. 
Let us, then, advance with this distinction clearly in our 
view. 

The human race is so connected into one that the effort 
of each individual, however weak, provided it be well in- 
tentioned, is never lost, but propagated to the mass, so that 
what one may merely ardently wish another may reso- 
lutely endeavor, and a third or a fourth or a twentieth may 
at length accomplish. The undulations of mind and feel- 
ing throughout the entire globe and sphere of humanity, 
visible and invisible, past, present, and to come, are truly 
marvellous ; the propagations of light and sound, wonder- 
ful as they are, fall much short of these. 

Eut language is the chief medium of this communication, 
at least the most palpable to us, — perhaps but the symbol 
of an invisible intercourse ; at all events, a most interesting 



76 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

subject, and I therefore devote this lecture mainly to its 
consideration, as it may be a convenient bridge-along which 
to pass to other perhaps still more alluring aspects of our 
general theme. But how shall w^e treat the subject? I 
know no better method than that which we have hitherto 
proposed to ourselves to proceed, — namely, from body to 
mind, from matter to spirit; it is an unambitious path; 
but let us creep before we walk, and walk before we fly. 

The organs of the animal body are so formed as to dis- 
charge each several uses, and it is sometimes difficult to say 
which is the principal. I instanced in my last lecture the 
mouth, and showed that it was subservient to two obvious 
purposes, — the one for the admission of nourishment to the 
animal, the other as the organ of the lungs. The lungs 
themselves subserve two grand uses in the animal econ- 
omy, — one as a general rendezvous of the whole blood of 
the body, in successive tides, to meet the external atmos- 
phere, and therefrom to take whatever is congenial with 
itself, and, at the same time, to part with what is unpropi- 
tious; another use is that they may be an instrument, 
under the control of the will of the animal, to serve to 
designate its desires. Looking at the lungs in this light, 
we might say that it was the main design of them to enable 
the animal to emit sound ; for, although the purification of 
the blood in the lungs is an indispensable use, yet it is more 
animal than the other, and belongs rather to the organic 
than to the expressive or mental life. That the lungs are 
not absolutely necessary to the life of an animal is clear 
from the case of those living creatures which are not endow^ed 
with the organ, as the annelides, and indeed all of the insect 
tribe. It is true that one of the functions which the lungs 
discharge in the higher order of animals — the aeration of the 
blood — is indispensable ; but this we find to be carried on 
very perfectly, for the life of those creatures, by means of 
the stigmata, or air-tubes, with which their bodies are 



LECTURE III. 77 

covered, and in which the blood or circulated fluid meets 
the atmosphere, and receives the necessary purification or 
restoration. And that even the blood of the higher animals, 
and of Man, undergoes a certain restoration in the external 
contact of the atmosphere through the pores of the skin, 
which thus co-operate with one of the functions of the 
lungs, seems extremely probable, and is advocated at least 
by one individual of no mean reputation ; and we find our- 
selves, from daily experience, when the cutaneous excretions 
are interrupted by temporary obstructions of the pores of 
the skin, through cold or otherwise, that a more than double 
duty is devolved upon the lungs, which labor under the task 
imposed upon them, and find it hard to throw off the re- 
crementitious matters of the blood which have been accumu- 
lated ; and hence the violent effort of the lungs by coughing 
and other means to disburden themselves of those impurities 
which it belonged to the pores of the skin in their regular 
action to have eliminated. It may then be taken for granted 
that the purification of the blood in the lungs, although no 
doubt eminently performed there, is not the most signal use 
of that organ, or one which cannot be j^erformed at all by 
any other ; for the stigmata of insects effect the same use 
in their diminutive bodies, and even in the human body the 
same use is at least partially accomplished through the 
pores of the skin. Accordingly, we may perceive that 
nature, in constructing this additional organ, — laying the 
rudiments of it at first in fishes, in their gills or bronchia, — 
had another grand design in view besides the aeration of 
the blood; she designed to provide and attach thereto an 
apparatus of sound, and ultimately to secure the grand 
end of language or speech in the human kingdom. For, 
although those animals in which the lungs are fully de- 
veloped and the two circulations entirely accomplished 
enjoy much greater activity of life, and wear the marks or 
symbols of a more perfect intelhgence, and constitute what 

7* 



78 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

are called the warm-blooded animals, at the same time, how- 
ever, the peculiar construction of that tube which connects 
the bronchia or air-cells of the lungs with the external 
atmosphere indicates very clearty that a secondary design is 
attached to their formation, which in man at last appears 
the primary end, the true intention^ — to provide the means 
of vocal utterance. This is seen most remarkably in that 
part of the tube called the larynx, next the tongue, and 
which is very artificially formed, and clearly for the purpose 
of the conformations of sound. It is here, then, that the 
foundation is laid, by the hand of nature itself, for the con- 
struction of the cries of animals and the speech of man. 
What a dreary solitude would nature be but for those en- 
livening sounds ! and what clear proofs of benevolence we 
see even in these physical and mechanical provisions for 
the accomplishment of such an object! It is not enough, 
for the gratification of a philosophical mind, simply to hear 
and listen to the sweet songs of birds and their varied notes, 
from the monotonous chirp to the full and flowing soul of 
harmony poured from their little throats. It is not enough 
for the philosopher merely to enjoy the sensual gratification 
of this cheerful and simple scene. It is not sufficient for 
him that his ear be merely excited by their notes, and the 
pleasanter associations of his infancy called up by the 
sounds ; but his mind travels farther than this, and he does 
not merely surrender himself to the reverie of pleasant 
sensations, nor yet with a blind religious awe is he con- 
tented merely to say that God has provided all this fund of 
innocent recreation and enjoyment in the simple scenes of 
nature. He carries his investigations and inquiries still 
farther than this ; and he endeavors to establish the truth 
in his mind, and in his reason, by some substantial and 
palpable proof that it is actually a designing intelligence 
through which all these effects are produced ; and he traces 
in this very mechanical and artificial apparatus of vocal 



LECTURE III. 79 

expression not the vague belief, but the actual fact, that 
the Author of nature has conferred not only on man the 
gift of proper speech, but has also bestowed on the higher 
animals, and particularly on the winged tribes, a power and 
faculty of analogous expression, which, although not speech, 
is the type of speech, as animal is the type of buman, — a 
rude sketch in a lower order, of a finished work in a 
higher. 

We have bere some clue to tbe understanding of the 
common belief that speech is the gift of God : certainly, in 
this sense, at least, that man did not construct, by any effort 
or art of his own, that complicated and wonderfully adjusted 
apparatus of vocal expression wbich is constituted in the 
anterior and superior portion of the body : for, in truth, the 
whole thorax and the mechanism of the ribs, as well as the 
cellular tissue of the bronchia, and the ringed tube of the 
trachea, and the whole system of the oral apparatus, are 
parts auxiliary, or principal, to the act of speaking; and 
we need not be informed that we did not construct any of 
these, or, after they were constructed, put them up in that 
order, and nice adaptation to the end, whicb we discover in 
them. 

Is speech, then, natural to man, or is it acquired? 

Let us proceed to examine the evidence before us : let us 
advance to the analysis of those portions of nature which 
are submitted to our view, and perhaps we shall acquire a 
satisfactory answer. If by speech be meant the mere act 
of emitting sounds, we may not yet be prepared to say 
whether it be natural or acquired, or we may not have a 
very distinct idea of what we mean by the terms ; but this 
much we are now sure of, at least, that the physical instru- 
ment or instruments by which we speak have been provided 
for us by nature; and we can trace the first dawning of 
her design, from a long distance, even among the more im- 
perfect animals, when she first began to form the rudiments 



80 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

of lungs, — in the very gills of fishes, and the bronchia of 
the tadpole. Although these are mute, we can yet see her 
first essays towards the consummation of this all-perfect 
instrument of the human voice. Now, an act which nature 
has travelled so far and so long thus to accomplish, up 
through the imperfect animals to at last the mammalia and 
the birds, — in them conspicuous, — we cannot view as a 
trifling act or one of slight import : an instrument of 
sound, perfect as his mind, and obedient thereto, has been 
put in the power of man ; he is made the owner; it consti- 
tutes a part of his body ; when he tries it, it sounds but 
rudely, but the imperfection is evidently not in the instru- 
ment, but in the vocalist himself, who has not learned as 
yet to use it rightly. 

But have we yet answered the question, is God the author 
of human speech ? 

We are now prepared to see how far we are ready for 
the solution of it. Suppose, then, a father to have put into 
the hands of his twelve sons musical instruments of pre- 
cisely similar make, and that they had also inherited from 
him, all of them, musical propensities and dispositions, so 
as to catch and to imitate each sweet cadence of melody 
that fell upon their ears, from the groves and woods, the 
musical academies of the singing birds, which thronged 
these wild domains, their paternal inheritances; if these 
twelve sons were musicians, and played on these instru- 
ments skilfully, would you say it was the act of their 
father or their own? or can you say how at last it was 
accomplished? But perhaps they all played difi'erent 
tunes, and not one, and that original and the archetype of 
the others ; such, most likely, would be the result ; but yet 
music, in all its variety, is essentially one, and human 
speech, although infinitely diversified, flows from one — not 
one system of sounds, so much as one system of articulated 
thought. 



LECTURE III. 81 

We seem, then, now to be approaching the solution of 
the question, and the answer would appear to be this, that 
God is really the author of human speech: Firsts because 
he has, with an infinity of mechanical skill, constructed 
the physical instrument ; secondly^ because he has implanted 
in the human soul a disposition to speech, and the faculty 
of imitating articulated sound. And, again, human speech 
is one, because men are brethren, — in their mental concep- 
tions, and their bodily faculties alike, and therefore their 
ideas are moulded similarly. Men have but one language, 
but a diversity of dialects ; the diversity of dialects comes 
from local circumstances, but the oneness of language 
comes from the divine brotherhood of the human race, or 
the identity of the human kingdom, notwithstanding all 
its families and different homesteads. " The father loves 
his son," — " the son reverences his father," — these ideas may 
be articulated in many thousand different impulses of the 
organs of speech, on the atmosphere of a thousand coun- 
tries and provinces ; but the essential speech is the same 
in all. 

"The father loves his son;" when that moral fact is 
articulated in speech, it is articulated in three joints, and 
the mind of every human being, with whatever modifica- 
tions of breath he presses it on the atmosphere, feels and 
views it still substantially in one way ; the father is one, 
the son another, and the relation expressed between them 
a third ; it is this similarity of mental conception, this 
identity of nature, this fraternity of man, that lays the 
divine foundations of language, and renders the intercourse 
of mind with mind possible. 

You call that form of language Greek, and this other 
English ; but in what does that Greek differ from this 
English? It is merely the color or texture of a veil; you 
draw aside the English or the Greek, and you see the same 
divine human countenance, sweetly arrayed in the smiles 



82 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

of love or clothed with the majesty of reason and philoso- 
phy. 

Why is it, then, that we say that the language of 
Homer is so much superior to that of our day? It is just 
because it is a veil so perfect, and so gracefully worn 
withal, that you see the transparent symmetry of the 
noble Grecian mind displayed without an effort; as if the 
very dress had been put on by the same Hand which 
originally clothed the human soul itself with its own ap- 
propriate form, — that body, those limbs and lineaments 
and features. 

Under this view of the subject, then, it is easy to see 
what we are to understand by the proposition, that lan- 
guage is the gift of God, and that there was originally but 
one language ; and how ridiculous, and almost childish, are 
those speculations and inquiries as to that original lan- 
guage, whether Hebrew, or what. As far back as history 
carries us, men have been speaking a variety of languages, 
in the common acceptation of the word; and what may 
have been the state of the human race at a period anterior 
to history no one who understands the limits of rational 
investigation will consider himself competent to decide, 
although he may allow himself the freedom of conjecture. 

This much we know, that mankind are found in almost 
everj^ imaginable stage of progress, from the most savage 
to the most civilized condition, and in no case do we find 
them destitute of language : wherever there is human res- 
piration there is human speech ; that ebb and flow of the 
atmosphere, as it alternates in the thorax of the human 
body, is impelled by the organs of the human voice a 
thousand various ways, to us mysterious and inscrutable, 
so as to convey to the ears of others the impressions of 
those thoughts and sentiments which agitate or interest 
the mind of him who utters them. These atmospheric 
impressions may often resemble, from the fact that all men 



LECTURE III. 83 

naturally attempt to imitate by their breathing, the natural 
sounds which occur everywhere and are similar ] of these 
there are many instances in all languages, particularly of 
rude tribes. But to suppose these in all cases to have been 
imitated and copied from those who had first adopted and 
ussd them seems by no means tenable ground. And I 
imagine that it arises from narrow views of the character 
and nature of man as well as of the operations of Divine 
Providence. Cannot the origin of human speech be con- 
sidered due to the Creator, unless we can think of it as 
having begun from that Source, in some one country exclu- 
sively at first, and in some very remote epoch of time, and 
thence to have spread to other countries and other times 
by successive and perpetual imitation? I must frankly 
own, that the idea of the divine origin of language seems 
to me much more striking and real when I think of it as 
proceeding from the very constitution of human nature 
itself, and consequently from the will and act of Him, every 
single instant^ " in whom we live, and move, and have our 
being;" and that language is truly one, however various, in 
virtue of this its constant and present origin. What analo- 
gies and similarities in the stems and leaves of all the various 
tribes of the vegetable kingdom ! Whence are these ? 
Have they been all copied, so to speak, from the first bud- 
ding and efflorescence of some central group, in one favored 
spot ? 'Not so ; but they spring from a more present cause, 
a more real origin, — the very order inscribed on the vege- 
table creation, and its fixed relations with other dej^art- 
ments of nature. Are the analogies of human languages 
to be differently accounted for ? 

The smiles and frowns of the human countenance, and 
the natural cries indicative of joy or distress, are the same 
wherever the family of man is found. Do we suppose these 
to have been copied by one generation from another, 
downward from the first man, or to occur spontaneously, — 



84 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

divinely^ to be the result of our formation, — nature itself 
willing and acting in us ? 

On such foundations speech is built, and hence springs 
its original unity. But its variety, at the same time, is the 
clearest indication that the mind of man is not chained 
down to any invincible law of necessity, but left free to 
mould the original and spontaneous impressions of nature 
into a thousand various systems of ideas, and, as a proof of 
this, to express them vocally and sonorously, in as many 
various forms of speech. But in all these there is still the 
analogy of man, and hence, amid infinite variety, the still 
visible form of unity, here more, there less conspicuous, 
according as the different groups of the human family 
approximate or recede, in the incidents of their naturalor 
civilized condition. That unity^ — those links of the brother- 
hood which connects them together, and which is not only 
seen in their features and gestures, but also heard in their 
language, — that chain, I say, which binds them, is upholden 
by the hand of the Creator himself, and is, in one sense, a 
chain of necessity ! — a good necessity— which renders man 
still true to man ; but the variousness interwoven with it is 
at once the consequence and the symbol of human freedom, 
and in no instance so remarkable as in this very copiousness 
and diversity of the sounds and articulations in which 
thought is embodied. 

This tendency to indefinite variety in human language is 
at the same time restrained, and in some measure limited, 
by the faculty of imitation implanted in man. From this 
it has arisen that the audible sounds of nature, which are 
nearly everywhere the same, have been moulded and incor- 
porated in some degree into all languages, but imbued, as it 
were, with the peculiar life of each. At the same time, 
neighboring nations, from mutual intercourse and this 
proneness to imitation, have largely borrowed of each other 
words and sounds, each, however, still preserving its own 



LECTURE III. 85 

idiom : as the bodies of plants and animals are built up of 
the materials which have entered into the composition of 
others, while each constantly retains its own peeuhar life 
and form and genus. For often, while the sound and form 
of words of neighboring languages bear a resemblance, the 
force and value of their elements vary exceedingly in the 
different systems. On their adoption into other languages, 
they actually receive a new nature ; and these additions 
resemble rather the nutritive sap that is taken in by the 
roots of the tree, than the grafts which are inserted in its 
trunk and branches ; they assume the character of the tree 
and lose their own specific distinctions. 

Such, then, are the two main sources from which language 
receives the constant accessions, as it were, of raw material, 
to be appropriated as the wants of the community re- 
quire. I mean, firsts the radical sounds and voices of 
external nature, and, secondly^ those already appropriated 
and humanized by other nations. But, independently of 
these sources of analogy and resemblance, there seems 
no reason why a similarity of vocal sounds should exist 
among mankind. 

The arguments drawn from the sacred Scriptures, to 
establish a system of uniform sounds and modifications of 
voice to designate ideas, are of a kin with the systems of 
astronomy and geology drawn from the same book ; all 
which, after being fanatically maintained for a time by 
arguments suggested by passion rather than philosophy, 
are compelled by degrees to give place to the solid truths 
of observation and experience. Not that I believe that a 
single truth of science militates in the least against the 
authority of the sacred Scriptures ; but these books do not 
purport to deliver to us a system of science, but only to 
reveal the author of Creation and the established series of 
its epochs. We are instructed from this source that speech 
is the native and original endowment of humanity, and that 



86 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

it was one until abused. Man abused bis powers, whence 
has sprung confusion in his ideas; and even that fraternity 
of the human race has been in a certain degree impaired in 
consequence. Hence that dissonance in the moral senti- 
ments of mankind which is the true Babel, or actual 
derangement of mental speech. 

The unity of speech, then, which existed in the earlier 
ages of the world, was the unity of thought, and of design, 
and endeavor, which characterized a race of men who had 
not yet fallen from that state of integrity in which they 
were at first placed. They viewed every object of creation 
in its natural light ; they knew its name, the name which 
the Creator himself had stamped on every work of his 
hands, — and their science was intuition. But as we may 
easily suppose that even their faculties were more or less 
improved by exercise, and that hence variety existed among 
them, so it is not irrational to conceive that the tones and 
articulations of their voice, in which they expressed the 
thought and feeling of their minds, were equally diversified. 
That, for example, that peculiar breathing of the mouth, 
and modification of it by the lips, in which they expressed 
their idea of the sun or stars, may have been remarkably 
adapted to convey a correspondent impression to the mind 
of another; and that thus speech among them was more 
diversified than it is now, as their minds were more free 
and open to the real impressions of things. Their one 
language, then, would combine within it a greater variety 
of sound and articulation than might be found at present in 
all the languages of the globe ; but that, nevertheless, in 
consequence of the harmony of their minds, it was not 
unintelligible to any part of the human family ; each in- 
stinctively felt the full force and impression of the thoughts 
of another, although uttered in sounds before unheard, and 
novel, it might be, even to the speaker himself; for vocal 
utterance would be spontaneous, and new with each new 



LECTURE III. 87 

conception ; but it resembled witbal those sweet tones and 
murmurs with which a mother expresses her affections to 
her infant, and to which it also replies in gentle cooings of 
infantile delight and budding intelligence, — vocal expres- 
sions of a species of thought, to utter which our mechanical 
and artificial languages nowadays could furnish no facilities 
of either words or tones. 

But it is vain to travel over a field of such wide conjec- 
ture; let it be sufficient for us to know that speech is 
natural to man, and that very probable arguments could be 
advanced, that, if man now lived in that primeval sim- 
plicity which the sacred Scriptures inform us once belonged 
to him, however multiplied and diversified might be those 
murmurs of voice and spontaneous expression in which he 
made known his wishes or his ideas, they could not be unin- 
telligible to others who lived in similar innocence, but the 
intercourse would be perfect between mind and mind, and 
endeared as that which now exists between a mother and 
her infant in the dawn of its intellect, before it has yet 
learned to express its wishes in the conventional and arti- 
ficial language of modern society. 

We know, at all events (and this is not a matter of fancy), 
that there are certain inarticulate cries which are natural 
to man, and express the various emotions of his mind. 
These are not dignified with the name of speech, because 
they are common to him with the animals. On the calm 
or troubled stream of these emotions, which are tones, are 
impressed the modifications which are called speech or lan- 
guage, and which are the shadows of ideas. In this manner, 
it maj" be perceived, that tones are the groundwork or the 
surface on which language is indented by that process 
which is called articulation, and which is purely intellectual^ 
and belongs not to the animals. They have all, however, 
their peculiar and instinctive cries, and the birds their 
instinctive notes^ wliich are not learned from the parent 



88 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

birds, but are natural to them. The domestic hen has great 
variety in its notes ; and its call of invitation, in particular, 
to its brood, to partake of the food which it discovers for 
them, is quite peculiar, as everybody knows ; it has also a 
particular note to express surprise and give alarm, which 
cannot be mistaken; and the cluck! cluck! with which she 
oversees her brood, and which seems to be very expressive 
of consequence and authority, is formidable even to dogs, 
and other enemies which would encroach upon her domains 
on those occasions. These are instances of a kind of natural 
language in animals^ which we presume to retain tlieir proper 
place in creation, and not to have deviated from it ; and from 
the observation of such facts, we might very easily imagine 
at least the possibility of a general language in the human 
family, flowing from reason and uncorrupted instinct, and 
the consequently pure and natural perceptions of the true 
relations of objects external to the mind. The contempla- 
tion of these might be supj^osed in such a state to have 
affected all men nearly similarly ; they derived from them 
ideas which were always true to nature, and therefore har- 
monizing, although various ; the similar affections of their 
minds gave birth to tones which were just and expressive 
of the things which produced them, and on these tones were 
impressed various modifications through the lips and tongue 
and palate, which were the language of the peculiar ideas 
of the understanding which were originated at the same time 
in the individual. But as we imagine that these affections, 
as well as ideas, spring directly from the observation and 
view of the prototypes of nature herself, and not from 
acquired knowledge, we are consequently led to the con- 
clusion that the tones and articulated sounds of the earliest 
language must have exceeded, in variety and extent, the 
whole united compass of expression at present to be found 
in all the languages of the earth. In that golden age, 
therefore, or antediluvian world, which we are taught to 



LECTURE III. 89 

consider as being more innocent than this which has suc- 
ceeded, and in which consequently there existed but one 
sj)eech, there must have been in that one speech languages 
so numerous that the speech of every individual was itself 
a language; nay, also, the language of the individual him- 
self must change every month or year, as his affections 
were enlarged or his ideas extended. And thus, the word 
father, for example, would not only be expressed with an 
additional tone of tenderness as he became more sensible 
of the extent of his obligations to that relation, but with 
such a new accent or indentation of the word as would give 
another arrangement to its vowels and consonants, and in 
fact render it almost a new word, exactly expressive of all 
the new ideas which had been gathering around the object 
itself which it was intended to describe. So that the various 
transformations which are effected on this word father, by 
our children, in their first efforts to pronounce the name, 
are in some sort a representation of those changes which 
we may suppose to have been constantly produced on all 
the words of that one perfect and correspondent language 
which we fancy to have existed before the flood ; but the 
beauty and perfection of it may be supposed to have been 
this, that in consequence of its expressing precisely, and 
according to the order of nature, the very feelings of the 
minds and the modifications of intelligence which were 
yet uncorrupt, and in unison with the whole of humanity, 
these constantly new tones and distinctions of sound fell 
upon their ears like familiar and well-known voices, finding 
an easy admission to every heart, and naturally intelligible 
to every understanding. It was the spoken music of nature, 
and needed no other interpreter but that "voice of God" 
within, which, being universally felt and acknowledged, 
banished all estrangement and discord from the earth, 
whether in mind, in voice, or in action. And yet there was 
no monotony there, for — 

8^ 



90 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

" Neither various style 
Nor holy rapture wanted they to praise 
Their Maker; in fit strains pronounced or sung 
Unmeditated, such prompt eloquence 
Flowed from their lips, in prose or numerous verse 
More tunable than needed lute or harp 
To add more sweetness." 

From these conjectures, it can be seen at least how vague 
and inadequate is the common idea of an original language, 
and how foolish it would be to think that it could resemble, 
either in its structure or its harmony, any of those wretched 
and meagre dialects which we write and speak. 

These, to be sure, in their poverty and indistinctness and 
remarkably artificial character, are a very just representa- 
tion of the habits of our minds, shut out from the natural 
j^erception of objects, especially such as are of a moral and 
religious kind, for on these a dense cloud now rests, the 
same which also obscures our moral sense, or has nearly 
obliterated it. Still, however, our languages are an exact 
image of ourselves, but for that very reasou unintelligible, 
unless from labor and study, to other nations ; the features 
of a real fraternity have been expunged in a great measure 
from their words and syntax, and they exhibit a picture, it 
must be confessed but too faithfully just, of the present 
discordant condition of the moral sentiments of mankind. 
They are the languages of opinion rather than of truth. 
Hence it has arisen that, morality and religion being ac- 
quired, not innate, although their foundations are not the 
less firm on that account, the nations of the present races 
of mankind are trained and disciplined in youth, each 
through their mother tongues, into certain confined views 
and sentiments; and it is not until the age of mature 
reason that we are able to obtain even a glimpse of that 
once perfect light which was wont to be as common as this 
of the sun, and as universally diff'used. But there is a pro- 



LECTURE III. 91 

vision for the recovery of this pristine condition of the 
human race ; and the indications are to be found in that 
expansive and germinant power conspicuous in modern 
languages; the English language especially is yet in its 
infancy, as is certainly the English mind. Our language 
will widen as our views expand, and, although rough at 
first, and rude, must be all innovations, as original views 
also are abrupt and indistinct, yet custom will mellow the 
one and ripen the other. 

The connection between language and thought is as 
difficult to understand as the intercourse between body 
and soul: and joerhaps the analogy also holds in other 
respects, — that it is just as impossible to think efficiently 
without language, some system of natural or conventional 
symbols, as it is for the soul to act without the body ; and 
as the senses are the first occasions, although not the causes 
of ideas, so it would appear that language, although not 
the material of thought or ratiocination, is yet the natural 
instrument without which it cannot be carried on or tangibly 
represented even to the mind itself. 

Language in its proper sense, being denied to brutes and 
granted only to man, signifies a peculiarity in his nature, of 
a very remarkable kind, which w^ill be further illustrated 
hereafter. It is the instrument provided by nature for 
stamping on his being after birth, through the means of 
society, the mo?^al sense, — in other words, religion, — with 
which the instincts of animals (the laws of their life) bear 
an analogy ; but in them these are fixed at birth. In man 
it is otherwise : the moral sense is unsettled then, in order 
that it may be established afterwards in freedom and 
rationality, and, through the action of the moral affections 
of society (communicated chiefly through language), be- 
come at last fixed, a certain and unerring law of life, 
if not mborn, inbred, and the last perfection of human 
character. 



92 NATURAL HISTORY OP MAN. 

Such, is the dignity and worth of language, and so high 
is the office it is designed to discharge in the completion of 
the moral creation of man ; for in the womb the laws of 
physical life alone are impressed immutably on his being 
and rendered unerring, but in the bosom of society his 
moral life begins to be formed, and, although we are wit- 
nesses to some of the means and instruments (of which 
language is one), the act is not the less wonderful or divine 
on that account. It is true the moral sense, although so 
much higher a faculty than that of instinct, is apparently 
more imperfect in its operations, but the reason of that is 
plain, from the lessons of revelation ; ultima dies expectanda 
est ; the work is yet unfinished. The moral sense will show 
all the perfections of instinct on the second birth into 
" everlasting life." 

But besides the moral sense in man, imperfect at birth, or 
its foundation merely provided, there is also the intellectual 
sense, similarly produced. The instinct of animals compre- 
hends both ; they are not only perfectly sensible of the ends 
of their life, but also of the means of attaining them. In 
both instances their nature, such as it is, is wholly made 
up, finished at birth, and in both also the human being is 
but " half made up," and not even that, for the moral and 
intellectual creation (such properly it is) is then only begun. 
Eut the work is going on ; and language is here no less 
evidently the appointed instrument of building up the 
intellectual than in forming the moral man. And in either 
case his mother tongue is that especial and natural means 
whereby his mind and affections are moulded into the image 
and likeness of his family and country, just as certainly as 
his body and form are determined by the physical contour 
and disposition of his progenitors. But neither is there 
here any law of cruel necessity, for although his native 
tongue modifies, while it gives occasion to, his first moral 
and intellectual sentiments, yet the very modifications 



LECTURE III. 93 

which that native tongue itself constantly undergoes from 
each new generation of human beings, are a positive dem- 
onstration that the intellectual and moral sentiments of 
mankind, although originally derived from education, are 
not controlled by it, but capable of receiving continual 
additions, improvements, and renovations. They may also 
degenerate, be lost, or obscured. In either case, and under 
every view of the subject, language is a true index of the 
moral and intellectual, the free and expansive nature of 
man. It wanes or brightens as morals and intelligence 
degenerate or improve. The intellectual sense will receive 
its perfection at the second birth of the human being, not 
less than the moral. This is a truth of revelation, but 
susceptible of demonstration also from the light of nature. 

The manner in w^hich language is acquired in childhood, 
and its contents opened to the understanding, if attentively 
observed, would throw much light on the formation of our 
sentiments and opinions. Languages appear at first to be 
learned by imitation, and the sentences and words which 
children first use they seldom distinctly understand. The 
recognition of this fact has led some to depreciate the value 
of language as an instrument to develop in education, 
and they have recommended in place of it " the study of 
things." And this surely ought not to be neglected, and 
it is indispensable to render the other effectual. But yet 
the acquisition of words and phrases is a much more 
important part of education than is generally supposed. 
They are the deposits in the smallest compass of the results 
of much observation and reasoning of our predecessors. 
When we open them in mature life, what a legacy of truth 
do we sometimes find to have been committed to us ! 

Most persons, however, seldom open these deposits of 
ideas, or seek to know what they contain. The deposits 
of theological language are the least explored. 

Language, then, may be considered as the treasury of 



94 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

the experience and common observation of mankind ; and, 
although very unlike its most ancient perfection, it is still 
the best vehicle of the ideas of those who have preceded 
us ; it is a chain that draws together all those minds that 
have passed from the terrestrial sphere and those who in 
their turn occupy it, and the feeling that once quickened 
the bosom of Homer or glowed in the mind of Plato can be 
rekindled afresh in the souls of the latest posterity. " The 
farewell address" of Washington will make the most illus- 
trious deeds of the latter half of the eighteenth century 
be transacted over and over again in grateful memory, 
while a sense of genuine freedom, still more exalted virtue, 
disinterestedness, and devotion to country retains its power 
over the human mind. To speak, to read, is the provision 
of nature and nature's Grod, through which we are ce- 
mented in virtue, in energy, and faithful purpose, with 
all that has ever been noble and good, with all that ever 
will be. 



LECTURE IV. 95 



LECTURE IV. 

ST. AUGUSTINE AND BARON CUVIER; 

OR, THE MEETING OF THE 

FIFTH AND NINETEENTH CENTURIES. 



In our last lecture we traced the physical provision for 
human language, and showed its foundation in nature, its 
essential oneness, its formal diversity. Its natural foun- 
dation was discovered in the instrument itself of vocal 
expression, so artificially and studiously elaborated ; that 
it was connected with respiration and the organ — the 
lungs ; and that this organ seemed to be mainly designed 
by nature for this great end, since the aeration of the blood 
could be affected through other means than this singular 
apparatus. That in the insects the aeration of the blood 
is in fact otherwise accomplished, and that in the Crustacea 
and fishes there is the rude form of the lungs, but not the 
organ itself; that at last in the birds and mammalia it is 
perfectly brought forth, and in man its remote and final 
purpose fully disclosed, — the production of voice and the 
modifications of speech, the symbol of reason and the very 
means of its perfection, uniting men in society, exciting 
the social affections, strengthening, expressing, and ma- 
turing them, and with them the moral sense and the intel- 
lectual powers, the whole of which are combined into one 
delightful whole, and exhibited and embodied in this 



96 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

astonishing and divine edifice of language, no less compli- 
cated in its parts than harmonious in its results. That 
speech is therefore a part of humanity, as much as the 
existence of the social affections, without which, indeed, 
they could not well be manifested. That, accordingly, the 
origin of speech is not other than the origin of man him- 
self; it is coeval with his being, and has its origin in God. 
That speech, therefore, existed in primeval society; and 
that the Garden of Eden was vocal with other sounds than 
those of the happy irrational creation ; that there wanted 
not then a speech as diversified, and as musical, and every 
day as new and original, as were the thoughts and joyous 
feelings of the men of that golden period. That this lan- 
guage could not be artificial, as ours, on reasons of analogy, 
but has its type in the slender vocabulary but expressive 
tones of that intellectual progeny, the singing birds of our 
forests ; that then language must have been the entire, exact, 
and full expression of the whole soul, leaving no painful con- 
sciousness in the mind of the utterer that the sounds did 
not altogether yield his sense; and that, consequently, 
there could be no fixed forms of words, no stereotypes of 
thought descending from age to age, but the language of 
men must have been as the generations of the leaves of 
the trees, new every season, but each word still exactly 
expressive, as each tree has also its form of leaf, which 
God has given it, to tell its characters, its species, and its 
use ; and that therefore each man instinctively understood 
each other man, as Adam, or the " Man of that Age," is 
said, in sacred Writ, to have known the 7iame of every 
living thing, — that is, the indications of its true nature, 
marked on it by the hand of God, — and if, then, of every 
living thing, why not also those articulated sounds and 
tones which flowed from the lips of his brother man, which, 
albeit the spontaneous product of his thought, and born 
but that hour, and original and new, yet must have fallen 



LECTURE IV. 97 

with all meaning and expressiveness on the mind of one 
who worshipped God similarly, and viewed all nature with 
a consenting mind and genius and aifection. But in these 
latter ages the whole nature of the thing is changed. We 
understand not one another's speech, because our thoughts 
are now altogether our own, and no longer fraternal; we 
are estranged in mind, and hence in language, mind's 
representative ; but the golden age seemed to revive, as 
with a brief gleam, in the days of the first apostles of 
Christianity; they had the gift of understanding all 
tongues, because they had the endowment of universal 
philanthropy; this has been considered a pure miracle, 
and it was ; but miracles are the expression of laws to us 
unknown, and did not men entertain foolish ideas about the 
first language they would understand better what was sig- 
nified by "the gift of tongues." But that age of Christian 
innocence quickly passed away; whether it will be again re- 
stored it is not for me to speculate ; nor yet what must be 
the ultimate tendency of the present multitude of artificial 
languages, or how they may again be melted down into 
a general and spontaneous and unartificial language, from 
which point they are at present very remote, and the Eng- 
lish most of all : that, and many other inquiries on this 
subject, I shall not now pursue, for I am anxious to gather 
up into one view many of the sentiments of former lec- 
tures, and to survey them, if possible, from two widely 
different epochs of history. By that means, we may be 
enabled to take some lateral views of our subject, not 
regarding it in front merely, but under various other 
aspects, — of ages, of countries, of religions, of systems, and 
opinions, flourishing still, or long since extinct. 

But, in order to do this rightly and with effect, we must 
invest our minds, as it were, with the ideas and sentiments 
of past ages ; we must leave our own times, and our own 
language, — for I call our own language that which is at 



98 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

present spoken, whether English, German, Italian, or 
French, — for in that is variously stereotyped the spirit of 
the age, the intellectual domination which subdues us ; we 
must divest ourselves of it, and, seeking another language 
and an ancient epoch, thence, as from a watch-tower, mark 
the signs of our times, and, with the view of ascertaining 
the essential and immutable principles of man, note the 
ever-shifting features of opinion, sentiment, and engrossing 
pursuit, which, various and distracting as they may seem, 
are nevertheless the only positive phenomena from which 
the true theory of man can ever be determined. 

We may consider it now as settled that when the lan- 
guage of a people, the type of its peculiarities, has ceased to 
be spoken, and another has arisen in its place, sprung from 
the people themselves, as from the native earth, and at last 
adopted and polished by the learned, and made the instru- 
ment of their communications, — the spirit of the age is 
radically changed, a new dynasty of thinking has com- 
menced, and it is expressed in this new speech. The Latin 
language for many ages was the sole medium of intercourse 
between the learned of Europe, and while this was the case 
preserved many valuable truths under the guise of ancient 
peculiarities ; but it reflected few or none of the popular or 
native tastes of the country or period. Since its disuse the 
human mind, within the last two hundred years, stands 
entirely emancipated from the peculiarities of former ages, 
and is left free to invest itself with its own opinions, and 
to wear the livery at least of its own thoughts. How far 
it is more truly emancipated it is not for me to determine ; 
I am concerned chiefly to exhibit the natural phases of its 
history and philosophy, and that, too, in such order as they 
may be most easily apprehended, whether that of strict 
method or of rambling inquiry. It matters little in what 
order we approach the subject, provided we can impress 
upon our minds at last the chief and most conspicuous 



LECTURE IV. 99 

points of its truth and grandeur. With this view, and to 
have the full benefit of contrast, I shall bring before you 
this evening St. Augustine and Baron Cuvier, as specimens 
of men, and the one of the fifth and the other of the nine- 
teenth century. 

With the life and character of Cuvier you are already 
sufficiently acquainted to understand what he has to say ; 
with the life and character of St. Augustine you are perhaps 
not so familiar. St. Augustine lived in the close of the fourth 
and the beginning of the fifth century, occupying about 
the same portion of each that Cuvier did of the eighteenth 
and nineteenth. But how unlike the times in which they 
lived ! You are surrounded with the atmosphere of the 
nineteenth century, — it is unnecessary to say anything of 
it ; but of the fifth you are informed through history. It 
was in many respects a remarkable period ; it saw the last 
receding shadows of paganism, or the old Gentile religion, 
vanish forever from its long-occupied and favorite seats, the 
south and east of Europe. There is something melancholy 
even in the decline of an august form, of superstition ; those 
who understand human nature can readily imagine with 
what tenacity the ancient inhabitants of Italy and Greece 
clung to those forms of worship and fascinating rites of 
polytheism which, absurd as they may seem to us, were 
nevertheless at one time the sacred and revered expression 
of the religious feelings and imaginings of a noble portion 
of the human family. A sound philosophy would lead us 
to think that many of these forms of superstition had 
originated anciently in a just and pure conception of one 
God, and his revealed attributes ; and in that primeval era, 
probably, they established their dominion over the minds 
of men, and thence became sanctioned by the usages of 
antiquity, and the veneration that is paid to the opinions 
and sentiments of earlier ages ; but succeeding times, in the 
age of St. Augustine, had long since ceased to recognize 



100 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

anything either pure or rational in the rites of paganism ; 
if they once embodied the sentiments of a pure religion, it 
was no longer to be found in them, but nevertheless the 
people still clung to them with ardent devotion in many 
parts of the empire ; and Christianity in those times had 
to engage in a contest with these antiquated errors and to 
prove their absurdity. This was a contest on which St. 
Augustine entered with great zeal, and he has devoted a 
large part of the first division of his grand work, the " City 
of God," to exposing the absurdities of the ancient super- 
stition. This exposition is not without its interest, on many 
accounts, and chiefly as an exhibition of the temper and 
character of the times ; you are while reading it in the 
midst of those great questions which at the time perplexed 
and embarrassed the human understanding ; and, if you 
cannot help smiling occasionally at the extravagance of 
some, the thought will also cross your mind that many of 
those inquiries in which we are now engaged are not in 
their own nature a whit more important, — nay, perhaps a 
coming age may think them even less so, and the labors of 
St. Augustine, which have fallen into neglect in these philo- 
sophical times, may yet once more engage the admiration 
of mankind. And so much the more may this be the case 
as the decay of religions and their rise, and particularly 
their periods of transition, are no less replete with interest 
than the physical revolutions of the globe, the grandeur 
and wonderfulness of which are likely to attract the great- 
est minds of the age, and to the investigation of which 
Cuvier has led the way. Probably St. Augustine in his 
time would have regarded such researches as frivolous or 
impious, certainly no way to be compared with his own 
labors when for so many years he investigated from the 
lights of sacred Scripture what and how various might be 
the forms and essences of truth ; what sentences of con- 
demnation would be passed on those polluted pagans who 



LECTURE IV. 101 

still continued to worship, under the names of Juno, Jupiter, 
or Minerva, malicious demons, the enemies of the human 
race, — what might be their fate, or what their excuse ; and 
what, on the contrary, the rewards of those suffering mar- 
tyrs who declared their faith in the face of persecution, and 
stood true to their vows amid the most adverse and dis- 
couraging fortune. As St. Augustine cast his eyes back- 
ward on the enchaining and beguiling forms of a lofty and 
magnificent paganism, now sinking beneath the meekness 
and unpretending simplicity of Christianity, and saw the 
old retire and the new coming to take its place, and rejoiced 
in the fond anticipations of an approaching millennium, — 
a dream which the earliest fathers habitually indulged, and 
which the most recent times have not yet abandoned, — how 
insignificant to him would have seemed the most industrious 
labors of Cuvier, those energetic descriptions of animal life, 
those nice and just discriminations, and the astonishing 
instances of successful induction, with which his works 
abound. Sixteen centuries after his time, when every trace 
of that hostile paganism against which he warred was 
obliterated, and Christianity, in name at least, everywhere 
triumphant in the European world, could St. Augustine 
have fancied that a philosopher would find no better or 
worthier employment than to arrange and classify animals, 
or to inquire into the antiquity of the earth, or those phys- 
ical revolutions which have at different periods affected its 
surface? Could he have thought that a learned Christian, 
for such subjects as these, would have abandoned his own 
lofty themes respecting the free-will of man, original sin, 
the last conflagration, the beatifications of the faithful, and 
the crowning splendors of " the city of God ?" All these 
were the engrossing topics, the favorite studies of the fifth 
century, and their importance seemed to cast all minor 
subjects in the shade ; the spirit of inquiry was entirely 
theological, and hardly could a subject of different character 

9* 



102 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

have engaged serious notice. It is to be regretted that we 
are so entirely wedded to the jDrejudices of our own age, 
and so much imbued with the contempt of those ages of 
theological erudition, that we hardly even consider their 
ponderous folios worthy of our inspection. But he who 
would comprehend, as far as possible, the true history of 
man will read with care such works as these, and imbibe 
for a time even their prejudices (if they were such), in order 
to have a better insight into the real character of the human 
mind. Nor will his labors be lost, even in a practical view ; 
he will find many of his own prejudices dissipated, he will 
receive a more exalted idea of the Christian religion, when 
he peruses such works as those of St. Augustine, who devoted 
his whole soul to the subject and endeavored so earnestly 
to portray its just features. For my own part, I have 
passed some of the most pleasant hours of my life in 
perusing the Latin pages of St. Augustine, for, although 
the style is far from classical, it has the charm of perfect 
originality, and gives utterance often to the most sublime 
and touching sentiment. 

As a specimen of his style and manner, I shall translate 
one short paragraph, which never before, I believe, flowed 
in English, and I do so the more willingly as the ideas are 
intimately related with the subject of our lectures : 

''ON THE UNIVERSAL PROVIDENCE OF GOD. 

" God, the highest and the true, with his word and his 
holy spirit, for the three are one, — God, the One, the 
almighty, the creator, the maker of all soul and all body, — 
in communication with whom all are happy, who are truly 
such, who made man a being rational, of soul and body 
composed, — who has neither permitted him sinning to be 
unpunished, nor yet abandoned him without compassion, — 
who to the good and the evil has given essence in common 
with the minerals, a seminal existence in common with 



LECTURE IV. 103 

vegetables, a sensual life in common with animals, and an 
intelligent soul in common with angels, — from whom is all 
mode and all species and all order, from whom is measure 
and number and weight, from whom everything is that 
naturally is, of whatever kind or estimation it be, from 
whom are seeds of forms and the forms of seeds, the motions 
of seeds and of forms, — who to flesh has given origin and 
beauty and health and fecundity, the disjDOsition of limbs 
and vigor and harmony, — who in the irrational soul has 
implanted memory and sense and appetite, but to the 
rational soul has superadded thought and intelligence and 
will, — who not only has fashioned the heaven and earth, 
not only angel and man, but even on the coating of the 
most insignificant insect, on the tiny feather of the smallest 
bird, on the most minute flower of the grass, on the leaflet 
of the shrub, has bestowed a finish and absolute fitness of 
parts ; He cannot, on any ground whatever, be supposed to 
have abandoned the society of human kind, or to have left 
them at large, beyond the contact and government of his 
providence and laws " 

With this author, then, being not a little conversant, and 
also having derived from him a vivid impression of the 
character of the age in which he lived, I long much to be 
able to convey to you some of those ideas and views of his 
mind and sentiments which I have received. I seem to 
myself even now to behold him, as he was in the prime of 
life, after the renunciation of his youthful errors, and when 
the serene spirit of Christianity had softened' and tamed 
the natural harshness of his character. I see his ru^o-ed 
countenance soften into benignity and energetic thought as 
I gaze on it, and what at first seemed a frown on his lofty 
and manly forehead is but the inviting aspect of a daring 
and sublime intelligence. There are calmness and mildness, 
and severity, at once combined in his looks ; but his severity 



104 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

is not that of an angry temper, but of a resolute seeking 
for truth, and indignation of wrong ; but the elevation of 
his whole aspect, naturally directed upward, shows one 
who, even in his search for truth, was ambitious to meet 
with her only in her loftier forms, in her heavenly rather 
than in her earthly attire. The youthful Augustine was 
one in whose presence few would dare to be gay, but none 
was ever known to be sad ; mirth was sobered and reason 
cheered in discourse with him. 

This age of ours is naturally infidel, but sometimes shows 
itself not incapable of believing ; it has been listening some 
time to very marvellous tales, and whether true or false I 
take it not upon me here to say. But you know that not 
a few individuals, and those far from credulous or unphilo- 
sophical in other respects, have been able to credit lately 
how a maiden, without ever moving from her couch in 
Providence, in Ehode Island, could travel in mental vision 
to a distant city, in company with a waking guide, he him- 
self also standing still, and survey not a few objects of 
interest in this renowned city, and take a faithful inventory 
of doings and transactions, and describe withal most 
graphically implements and pictures which none before 
had ever seen except herself and her companion there : all 
this has been credited, and I do not say that I disbelieve 
it ; I only wish that as ready belief could be awarded to 
the fact (if such could be supposed) of a meeting between 
this St. Augustine, of whose writings and character I have 
been giving some account, and the late Baron Cuvier, whose 
noble scientific character not less significantly marks the 
spirit of our era than did that theological bent of Augustine 
display the prevailing disposition of the fifth century. And 
it is a matter of interest to reflect — to those who have not 
reasoned themselves out of their Christianity and that firm 
and innate belief we have of another world — to reflect, I 
say, how each age and epoch bring into that world their 



LECTURE IV. 105 

own distinctive contribution of intelligence and thought 
and enlarged benevolence. Surely there the philosophy of 
Plato is not divorced, as here, from the philosophy of Bacon, 
nor the philosophy of Bacon from the philosophy of Plato, 
but men are able to reason a ^priori and a posteriori too ; nor 
is there theology in one corner and science in another, but 
all receive the good of all. In short, each age, as it were, 
manufactures its own special mental commodity; but in 
the meeting of the ages in that universal Forum, while all 
communicate with all, and without losing their individual 
characters, they may be supposed to come by intuition into 
full possession of the ideas of each other, and to have all 
their prejudices removed and their narrowness extended. 
The fifth century might there meet the nineteenth, and in 
the persons of Augustine and Cuvier hold no silly or un- 
philosophical colloquy, but one mutually instructive, ra- 
tional, and sublime, if there be indeed sublimity in truth, as 
assuredly there would be if we could see all its parts on any 
one subject brought into juxtaposition, to form a perfect 
whole, and not separated, as is generally the case, by inter- 
vals of many centuries. 

But, for once, let the interval be supposed to be removed, 
and let two sensible men, for good sense characterized them 
both, be believed to have met. Simplicity and candor and 
truth must be enduring traits in the minds of Augustine 
and Cuvier; although born in distant ages, they were not 
essentially unlike. 

St. Augustine. — Yes, Cuvier, your industry was undoubt- 
edly laudable, and it has extended the domains of natural 
knowledge. I^Tewton and yourself have each in your own 
peculiar provinces enlarged the views of mankind, and pre- 
pared a wider field for the glory of G-od to be signalized 
and be made to affect the human soul to its advantage. 

Cuvier. — But, St. Augustine, it has often been matter of 
astonishment to me that you should have consumed so 



106 NATURAL HISTORY OP MAN. 

large a portion of your time in writing that work you call 
" The City of God," the deep mysteries of which, I must 
confess, I never could unravel ; and I have lamented that 
talents so powerful as yours should have been employed on 
a subject so barren of useful truth as that appears to have 
been. 

St. Augustine. — Cuvier, you must not underrate the im- 
portance of that work ; the spirit of the age called for it, 
for mine was the age of speculative theology, yours is 
devoted to physical research. You delved into the hidden 
depths and recesses of nature; I, on the contrary, at- 
tempted to explore those riches unsearchable, of moral and 
spiritual value, which are contained in the sacred Scrip- 
tures, and when I wrote my great work on the city of God, 
it was with the design to show that the laws which regu- 
late the spiritual commonwealth are as fixed and immu- 
table in their character as those which compel nature 
herself to be submissive to the will of the Creator, — which 
determine the revolution of the seasons or the succession 
of day and night. 

Cuvier. — But you forget, Augustine, how your specula- 
tions at last terminated. You bound the human will in 
shackles of fate, you are the great lord of predestination, 
and your work even now bolsters up that tottering fabric 
of mischievous opinions which have so long darkened and 
bewildered the faith of mankind. 

St. Augustine, — And it were but another proof, Cuvier, 
of the natural servility of the human mind. But the doc- 
trine in question was in my case unavoidable ; I was driven 
to it to raise a rampart against the Manicheans, whose 
system of opinions had much infested my mind in my 
youth. You know their belief in two principles, which 
contend for the government of the world, the one benign, 
the other malevolent, and that a perpetual and doubtful 
war is waged between them, while mankind are alike 



LECTURE IV. 107 

exposed to either influence, inclined sometimes to the one, 
sometimes to the other. 

Cuvier. — I have merely learned, Augustine, that such 
opinions existed, and that your youth was captivated by 
them. 

St. Augustine. — -And such, indeed, was the fact; but 
when that benignant Eeligion, whose smiles irradiate the 
whole creation, first dawned on my intellect, I quickly 
abandoned all these follies. 

Cuvier. — So history has informed us; and then, by a 
rapid transition, you passed from one absurdity to a worse: 
you became a fatalist in your creed, and you made your 
God the author of evil, in virtue of an irrevocable decree, 
and thus fixed on the minds of your followers a more 
dangerous error than that from which you wished to 
deliver your Manichean associates. 

St. Augustine. — Cuvier, I cannot acknowledge these 
modern errors to be the legitimate offspring of the the- 
ology of the fifth century. I wished to delineate the form 
of a spiritual commonwealth whose laws are not arbitrary 
but fixed and capable of being apprehended by the human 
mind. Such it appeared to me; but you know the imper- 
fection of human language, and how incapable it is to 
embody those gleams of truth which strike the mind in its 
contemplation of the works of Grod. And did those who 
succeed us look to the same quarter for evidence whence we 
ourselves have derived it, instead of studying only that 
imperfect language in which we have delivered it, fewer 
errors would descend to posterity, or rather fewer truths 
would be transmuted into errors in the progress of trans- 
mission. 

Cuvier. — That is very certain ; but how came mankind 
to fall into such error in this case? 

St. Augustine. — I was myself partly in fault, Cuvier : my 
language was not sufl&ciently guarded; but it was my 



108 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

solicitude to conquer the Manicheans which misled me, for 
I designed to establish it, in opposition to their dogmas, 
that evil as well as good is under the disposition of one 
supreme God, and that nothing either good or evil can 
possibly happen without his permission and knowledge; 
such is the tenor of those unchangeable laws which regu- 
late the occurrence and order of all moral as well as physi- 
cal events. 

Guvier. — I am happy to find, Augustine, that your the- 
ology on this point is not so irrational as I had been led to 
suppose : but I cannot help thinking that your age was too 
exclusively theological. 

St. Augustine. — The nineteenth century is making amends 
for that error, Cuvier : in the pursuit of science, theology is 
now in danger of being forgotten ; nature has engrossed 
your whole attention ; the ministers of religion are no 
longer the best intellects of the age ; the services of the 
sanctuary are abandoned altogether to the hearts of men ; 
their understandings appear to have found other employ- 
ments. 

Cuvier. — Every period has its own predominant char- 
acter, Augustine; mankind, like the individuals who com- 
pose it, are great only by fits and starts, and in single 
things ; one engrossing pursuit is enough for an age, and 
it is then the season for minds of a peculiar stamp to show 
their native superiorities. Had you been born in the nine- 
teenth century, Augustine, you would have made but a 
sorry figure ; your pious meditations and profound specu- 
lations in theology would have found but little favor from 
learned bodies, our royal societies, and national institu- 
tions. 

St. Augustine. — Quite as much, I should suppose, Cuvier, 
as your own speculations about the antiquity of the earth 
would have been likely to meet with from a synod of 
bishops in the fifth century; and, indeed, you say truly. 



LECTURE IV. 109 

that each age has its own predominant features, tastes, and 
propensities, and rightly, too, that each may be fitted and 
inclined to discharge the offices which are allotted it, and 
to make its own distinctive contributions to the general 
stock of human knowledge; and it was not, therefore, 
without reason that you were engaged in an exposition of 
the order and laws of the animal kingdom, and I was 
summoned to a different task, to unfold the economy of 
"the city of God." 

Cuvier. — I am willing to believe that the task assigned 
to each by the requisitions of the age was most propitious 
and happy, and such as no chance could have directed. 

St. Augustine. — But theology came first; science has 
succeeded. 

Cuvier. — And perhaps from the succession the happiest 
results may yet follow. 

St. Augustine. — There is reason to presume so much,- — 
but your conjecture ? 

Cuvier. — I see but this, Augustine, that your "city of 
God" is far too resplendent an object for the weak and 
feeble sight of mortals to contemplate, and that there is 
needed a mirror, if I may say so, to reflect its splendors, 
with so mild and natural a light that its form may be seen 
without its overpowering brightness; and if the sciences 
of modern ages can suj^ply this desideratum (as I have a 
presentiment they may), succeeding times will have cause 
to congratulate themselves on the possession of double ad- 
vantages, — they will have the light of your period with the 
demonstrations of ours, in practical union. 

St. Augustine. — Your anticipations coincide with my own 
hopes, and I see in the order of nature, and especially in 
the arrangements of the animal kingdom, the very mirror 
you speak of. 

Cuvier. — And a very perfect mirror, indeed, it seems to 
me. 

10 



110 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

St. Augustine. — And so much the more glorious, when 
men shall make the right use of it. 

Cuvier.—'Bu.t do you see any reason to apprehend that 
this may be reluctantly done, or what signs of our times 
do you observe from a favorable position ? 

St. Augustine. — I entertain good hopes, Cuvier; but as 
you have just now said that you considered our age to have 
been too exclusively theological, too much addicted, I pre- 
sume, you mean, to the abstractions of religion, or too easily 
misled by the delusive lights of opinion, so I see your times 
ready to incur a danger of a similar kind, or rather indeed 
already in the midst of it. 

Cuvier. — I am not sure that I understand what danger in 
particular you allude to. 

St. Augustine. — The danger of being too much enamoured 
with their own discoveries, Cuvier, — no slight one, you will 
allow, or one which a wise man would not most ardently 
wish to be delivered from. 

Cuvier. — I must confess it is so, Augustine, the most fas- 
cinating species of danger; but yet it does not strike me 
that our age is so much exposed on this score as some 
others; we have discarded the fallacies of absurd opinion, 
and fixed our scrutiny on the laws of nature ; not systems, 
but facts, now challenge the admiration of mankind. Surely 
our own speculations no longer mislead us. 

St. Augustine. — And so it always is, Cuvier; each age 
believes that to be firm ground where it is itself treading. 
For do you suppose that the fifth century believed that they 
were contending only for their own opinions when they 
were vindicating the true texts and doctrines of the sacred 
Scriptures ? But we are short-sighted, Cuvier, remarkably 
short-sighted ; and your century and the last, having entered 
on a fresh field of investigation, have become blind to the 
value of that better truth which was at least earnestly 
sought, if not actuall}^ attained, in former ages. And 



LECTURE IV. Ill 

because physical truth is now the main object of your 
affection and search, you have nearly forgotten that there 
is any other in existence. 

Cuvier. — But at least you will acknowledge that we have 
succeeded in the attainment of our object ? 

St. Augustine. — With due allowance, Cavier; and some of 
you have attained it, and are modest enough to appreciate 
its quality and degree : but not such, I think, is the general 
spirit of the age, and of this I speak. 

Cuvier. — What is that, Augustine, pray declare ; let the 
unprejudiced light of the fifth century fall upon the nine- 
teenth, that we may see ourselves, and also you. 

St. Augustine.— 1 will only indicate what I feel and think, 
most noble Cuvier, and your candor will excuse. But it 
seems to me an error of your period that it is too much 
disposed to consider what it has discovered of truth, in any 
case, as the whole that belongs to it, and, from the admira- 
tion of a few circumstances detected by experiments and 
instruments, is prone to fancy that it has led the truth cap- 
tive, and that the very work indeed of Omnipotence is sub- 
jected to its gaze ; and in short, Cuvier, you appear to me 
(I speak of the multitude of philosophers) to be falling into 
the same error, in regard to physical science, which was so 
fatal to us in the fifth century, in regard to Divine knowl- 
edge. The real Word of Grod was lost sight of in fastening 
our attention exclusively on those points of its doctrines 
which we endeavored to bring within the compass of our 
definitions and categories. And many of the simple, at 
last, had a juster impression of the whole than the learned, 
who, in the examination of minute parts, lost sight of the 
general bearing, and the divine inspiration. Your errors, 
I say, in your own province, are not very unlike to those ; 
you are constantly mistaking the circurnstances of natural 
operations for the tJiiiigs themselves, and the grandeur of 
nature is felt the less for it, and your own importance the 



112 NATURAL HISTORY OP MAN. 

more. So that, let me tell you, the arrogance of the age 
is become excessive (I hope many are exempt), and you 
have not only lost sight of the living cause of physical 
phenomena, but do not even see the more natural and 
obvious grandeur of the effects, while from a species of self- 
admiration you laud your ov^n times, and depreciate ours, 
that one might be inclined to believe that wisdom was not 
born until the eighteenth century at least, and did not learn 
to speak until the nineteenth, — when you have invented 
for her a new language of chemical and other learned terms, 
which at the same time serve very well to emblazon your 
own discoveries, to rivet your attention on these and on 
yourselves. 

Guvier, — But you must allow that this language has 
become necessary ? 

St. Augustine. — I am very far from being disposed to 
undervalue the language or the facts w^hich it serves to 
express ; but you know what an influence words exercise 
on the minds of the multitude ; and while the new vocabu- 
lary of science recalls those parts of physical actions which 
are explained, it leaves the others, much the most numerous 
and generally the most admirable, altogether out of sight, 
so that a more broken and imperfect view of the beauty 
and greatness of those natural occurrences is at last often 
taken than if the mind were left to its own general and 
unbiassed impressions of them. 

Cuvier. — I must confess there is reason in what you say, 
and I acknowledge that this evil is incident to the popular 
views of modern discoveries. 

St. Augustine. — And it will receive the best illustration 
from your own science of anatomy and physiology. We 
preachers of the fifth century, whose fund of natural 
knowledge was exceedingly scanty, indulged at least a 
feeling of reverence and awe when Ave contemplated the 
w^orks of nature, and we called them the works of God. 



LECTURE IV. 113 

And when we spoke of man, it was as the image of God, 
for we had not yet learned from anatomy, this material 
science, to think of man as an image of the animals. 

Guvier.— Then you viewed him generally, not par- 
ticularly ? 

St. Augustine.- — True, we did so. 

Cuvier. — But what think you, then, of the comparison 
now more common, I mean that to which you refer, that 
man wears the image of animated nature, and is at the 
head of the scale, the supreme animal, who, " with front 
serene, governs the rest?" 

St. Augustine. — It introduces naturalism into the ideas 
of the crowd, the unintelligent crowd of servile philoso- 
i:)hers, who have never seen what you see, Cuvier, and 
never will, until they acknowledge the same supernal 
light. 

Cuvier. — I am loath to believe it. 

St. Augustine, — But it is true. Take notice only in what 
manner they view the most exalted acts of life, — they 
really see nothing in them but the modern discoveries of 
their analysis. What a mystery to us was breathing, — the 
constant remembrancer of that day of Creation, when 
" God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed 
into his nostrils the breath of life," and when we reflected 
on the respiration of a human being we saw, as it were, 
that divine transaction before us : it was a standing memo- 
rial to us of the most conspicuous work of creation, and 
a seal of its truth, and we therefore regarded it with an 
almost trembling reverence. But now your modern phi- 
losophy has discovered — what? that when we breathe we 
appropriate oxygen, and that caloric and carbon are dis- 
engaged; and, descanting on these wonders of her own 
finding, has nearly extinguished that natural sentiment of 
religion with which these the most sacred of the works of 
nature are accustomed to be regarded by all who look at 

10^ 



114 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

them rather in their own native unblemished beauty than 
as expounded in the terms of science. 

Cuvier. — But you do not consider it forbidden to explore 
into the mysteries of nature, and to detect the laws of 
physical action ? 

St. Augustine.'—'No, Cuvier, no ; and it is possible it may 
be done modestly, and by those who do not see nature 
the less vividly and naturally as a whole on account of the 
few notices they have taken of the fixed order of events. 
These are performing a service the importance of which 
has yet to be appreciated. That it may be so, the spirit 
of the past must re-descend on the spirit of the present, 
and the infant must mix with man. 

Cuvier. — I understand you to say that the infantile sim- 
plicity of primitive times must be combined with the stern 
philosophy of the present age. 

St. Augustine.—EYen so. 

Cuvier. — Eut what points of probable harmony do you 
perceive ? 

>S'i^. Augustine.-—! perceive many. And neither db I 
despair that an amicable intercourse may be established 
between them, since what should hinder that ages as well 
as countries should engage in an exchange of their advan- 
tages, that the superfluities of the one may supply the defi- 
ciencies of the other ? I will not be so wedded to prejudice 
as to say that the fifth has no need of the nineteenth cen- 
tury ; I do not claim for my age a superiority of knowledge, 
but a greater elevation of mind, — no, not that, but I should 
say a more rational end, for it was to find God in every- 
thing, and to delineate his attributes ; and this, I am sure, 
is a worthier pursuit than to court nature ambitiously, and 
to settle her laws ; but at the same time I must confess 
that our ignorance of nature often beguiled us into super- 
stition, and our partial acquaintance with her laws limited 
our resources of illustration. 



LECTURE IV. 115 

Cuvier. — I am rejoiced to hear, St. Augustine, that you 
are readj^, then, to concede to us this merit, that we have 
at least checked the progress of superstition, and provided 
a fund of agreeable information. 

St. Augustine. — And it is here indeed where you reap a 
just distinction ; and it will be no mean praise, I think, that 
you have opened these rich sources of discovery. You 
have furnished theology with a new language, and that of 
the most expressive kind, because congenial : for the ex- 
pression of natural facts and their laws affords the most 
appropriate symbols, and, if I may so say, connate, for the 
exposition of theological truth. And this truly is a most 
valuable acquisition, especially now that the language of 
theology has become technical and obsolete and lost its 
power over the human understanding. 

Cuvier. — Then we philosophers of modern times, accord- 
ing to this account, have been employing ourselves all this 
while in constructing a new language for the use of you, 
the theologians, and of settling its grammar and syntax ? 

St. Augustine. — Assuredly, Cuvier, for in this light pre- 
cisely do I now view your valuable labors ; and surely you 
cannot consider the services which you have been thus 
rendering to the best interests of mankind as insignificant 
or deserving of regret ? 

Cuvier. — By no means, and I can only express my sense 
of gratification in having at last drawn from you a confes- 
sion that neither has the nineteenth century been wanting 
in useful contributions to the general benefit of the human 
race. 

St. Augustine. — 'No, Cuvier, I never could hold from your 
times that honor ; I would only gladly lessen or curb that 
overweening conceit, which seems to have seized the men 
of your generation, that no real wisdom was ever sought 
after, far less obtained, until the dawn of your modern 
epoch : here lies your error, here your danger ; for the 



116 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

objects we had in view, and especially the Christians who 
lived in the centuries before us, however imperfectly 
reached, were still of the noblest and best kind, — no other 
than to obtain a direct and certain knowledge of that 
Being whose spirit directs nature and has impressed upon 
her the most benevolent and unerring laws. 

Cuvier. — But you failed in the attempt. 

St. Augustine. — We did often, but mostly in the expres- 
sion of our views, for our sentiments were more just than 
our language. 

Cuvier. — And you expect now to be more successful with 
the benefit of this new language f 

St. Augustine. — Yes, for, the works of God being connate, 
with his Word, when the laws of the former are perfectly 
ascertained, they will be a just expression of the truths of 
the latter. 

Cuvier. — Then, O glorious philosophy of the nineteenth 
century, if such, indeed, are the distinctions which await it! 

St. Augustine. — It will be invested with a light not its 
own, the purpureum lumen Juventce. 

Cuvier. — It will be beautiful as the earth itself, under the 
first beams of the morning. 

St. Augustine. — 'And the sight, you must allow, is a 
glorious one, when mountains, lawns, and streams first 
burst upon the view, under the light of the rising sun. 

Cuvier. — And such, you conceive, will be the result, when 
the light of the theology of the earlier ages is poured upon 
the varied and extended science of modern times ? 

St. Augustine. — Such are m.y anticipations. 

Cuvier. — May they be fulfilled, but the signs of the 
times 

St. Augustine. — On the whole, I consider them ausj)i- 
cious, — a gentle spirit of peace, an unwearying appliance 
of investigation, the wars of theology sinking fast into 
oblivion and contempt, unless among the silliest of man- 



LECTURE IV. 117 

kind, who are fain still to fight their battles over again ; 
but the wisest and the true-hearted have engaged in a 
better contest, — to subdue the forwardness of their own 
spirits, to find the pledge and earnest of truth intertwined 
with the olive of peace rather than the laurels of victory, 

Cuvier. — I accept the omen ; but what of philosophy ? 

St. Augustine. — Philosophy will advance. 

Cuvier. — I am to understand, then, that you are of those 
who look for progress, and expect not the human race to 
be stationary ? 

St. Augustine. — ]N"o more than the individual. The earlier 
ages of Christianity were the infancy of the modern races ; 
and the best and most natural impressions were then made, 
to be deepened by philosophy, and reason. But theology 
takes precedence of philosophy, and but corroborates her 
truths, as age but explains the impressions of childhood. 

Cuvier. — I most cheerfully concede this point now, my 
most youthful Augustine, and the more so for that my 
best hopes are excited by our interview. And surely this 
intercourse of distant ages has shed a new halo of light 
and glory around the history of man, since such are the 
renovations which probably await all the sciences and 
pursuits and aspirations of humanity. 

St. Augustijie. — And indeed, my beloved Cuvier, such 
may most certainly be expected. 

Cuvier.— 1 hail their rise. 



118 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 



LECTURE V. 

PREDOMINANCE OF THE RELIGIOUS 
SENTIMENT IN THE EARLY AGES. 



The age of St. Augustine was rife of theological questions. 
I spoke of it in my last lecture as characterized by Christian 
simplicity ; I find it necessary to retract part of that eulo- 
gium, for, although this existed still in a great degree among 
the great body of Christians, yet the tone of abstruse specu- 
lation rose too high to allow the gentler and milder graces 
of the Christian religion to display themselves. The Greek 
philosophy corrupted the simplicity of the Christian re- 
ligion, and, by much analysis and definitions of its tenets, 
confused and degraded the undescribable beauty and gran- 
deur of our sacred faith. There is nothing which more 
clearly establishes the divine original and constitution of 
the Christian religion than the failure of all attempts by its 
j)hilosophers to tell what it is, and after what manner pre- 
cisely and for what reasons it produces those salutary effects 
on the human mind which we all can witness but none of 
us can fully comprehend. The whole subject is characterized 
by the same mystery which we find to veil all those opera- 
tions of nature v/hich fall under our inspection ; we see 
certain phenomena and established relations, but, when we 
question ourselves in regard to their essential connections 
and necessary laws, we are lost in useless and painful con- 



LECTURE V. 119 

jecture. Do we know anything perfectly in regard to the 
animal actions of our bodies ? Do we know how the food 
we receive into the stomach is assimilated to our system ? 
We know it is subjected to the action of a menstruum which 
we name the gastric juice, but alas ! how little knowledge 
of the actual process does this discovery or this term con- 
vey to us ] it is the name of one of the means of an action 
which we do not understand, and which we may safely 
predict we never can fully comprehend, although it is quite 
possible that other relations and facts and phenomena in 
regard to it may be discovered. But every act that is 
purely natural and not artificial, every act that has the seal 
of Divinity upon it and not the impression merely of art, 
is in virtue of its origin incomprehensible^ — that is, incapable 
of being defined or conceived exactly as it really is. It has 
certain obvious marks, which serve to make it known, to 
describe it, so that it can be identified ; but the entire 
assemblage of its qualities and their mutual adaptations 
and actions are beyond the reach of human intelligence. 
Who can understand that such an organ as an eye, and none 
other, is adequate to the production of vision? Who could 
imagine that special nerves were necessary to receive dis- 
tinctive impressions, now of taste, now of sound, now of 
smell, now of vision ? or who could have understood with- 
out antecedent experience that even nerves were at all 
necessary for the exhibition of such actions ? or who knows 
what these nerves are, unless as to their general uses ? do 
we know their composition or the kind of action which 
they sustain ? We are entirely in the dark in regard to 
these divine contrivances, or the-methods which belong to 
them ; and we even reckon it no small acquisition to have 
attained to this much, namely, to understand that we know 
nothing at all justly and verily about any of these things. 
And the reason is, that there is interwoven with the tex- 
ture of every divine work the symbol of infinity, and yet 



120 NATURAL HISTORY OP MAN. 

each work or act of nature has that upoD it which invites 
our examination, — seems to promise an entire explanation 
of itself. This is, among infinite other proofs, one also of 
the goodness and wisdom of the Deity, namely, that, 
although he has constructed and planned each work so as 
to be incomprehensible as to its essential nature, yet there 
is always a sufficient number of its relations exposed to our 
understanding that we may perceive them, and obtain a 
glimpse of that wisdom, that skill ineffable with which 
every part is devised. This is the highest reward of our 
reason, on the field of natural investigation. To see but in 
part, to know but in part, is the condition on which we at 
present enjoy our intellectual being. But the Christian 
religion, I have said, bears in this also the stamp of its 
divine original, that all attempts of mortal men fully to 
describe it, and to exhibit it in their books and their dis- 
courses with those very true and living features which it 
shows as it looks from heaven, have proved hitherto vain, 
and not seldom pernicious. Every description of the 
human body which rivets our attention more steadily on 
its wonderful phenomena, and renders new to us what was 
before familiar, is beneficial, as unveiling the workman- 
ship of Grod and usefully affecting the mind ; but further 
than this, those mechanical explanations of living actions 
which, every one can feel, do not describe the millionth 
part of the mechanism and truth which they would unfold, 
are prejudicial and injurious to the mind rather than other- 
wise, and obscure the natural dignity of the subject which 
they were designed to explain. The same remark will ap]3ly 
to the Christian religion ; the grace, dignity, and sweetness 
of the living body of truth is beyond all our powers of 
description, and although, indeed, there must be a divine 
reason for every item of its arrangement, and the fashion 
of every part be divine, yet often must our attempts to 
exhibit these minutisB of perfection and to describe their 



LECTURE V. 121 

uses be miserably inadequate, sometimes perhaps even per- 
nicious ; for men, not being able to see the thing in our 
definitions of it, mistake the distorted, imperfect, soiled 
image for the object, and hence despise that which they 
have never either seen or known. 

These observations are necessary to be made, in order to 
understand some very wonderful phenomena in regard to 
the natural history of man, which I may have occasion to 
refer to, and which I wish now briefly to state ; and they are 
phenomena which are intimately blended with the history 
of religion and have been but slightly noticed by philoso- 
phers. And they refer to the intellectual characters of 
nations and the prevailing bent of their investigations, and 
that, too, in the different periods of their career. And, lest 
there should appear to be no reason in what I am to 
advance, or no analogy, I wish to recall to your minds the 
facts, to which I adverted in a former lecture, of a te7}i- 
porary provision or mechanism sometimes set up by nature 
and afterwards dispensed with ; and I gave as an instance 
the temporary apparatus of the bronchia or gills in the 
tadpole, which are afterwards laid aside, as the animal 
advances to a more j^erfect state and enjoys an atmospheric 
respiration. These, to be sure, are instances of physical 
adaptations to circumstances ; but at all events they show 
that nature is not bound to one order of action in bringing 
even the same creature through all its stages of develop- 
ment. While the preservation of the individual is the end 
throughout, the means adapted to secure that end are 
shifted, remodelled, obliterated, entirely changed. I do 
not wish you to deduce from this instance of temporary 
adjustments any more than it will actually sanction, but at 
all events it is ascertained that in the same creature nature 
has provided two distinct sets of organs of breathing, or 
respiratory machines, one employed in the earlier stage 
of development, the other in the later or more perfect. 

11 



122 NATURAL HISTORY OP MAN. 

There is somethiDg analogous to this in the case of the 
human race : there are two orders of faculties in the 
human mind, the religious and the scientific, and the first 
respect the Deity, and the other nature, or the person of 
the workman and his works. Now, it is a remarkable fact, 
in the natural history of man, that the first order of facul- 
ties — namely, the religious — should be the first evolved in 
the advancement of nations, and the scientific the last. 
There is a grand temporary adjustment here, in regard to 
a future end, quite as remarkable as the temporarj^ appa- 
ratus of respiration just alluded to. 

In the ruder and earlier ages of the world mankind 
respire the atmosphere of religion rather than that of 
science ; they see more of Deity and less of nature than in 
later times. I do not say they are better men, but they are 
more religious men ; their minds are more deeply imbued 
with the spirit of heaven, or tainted with the breath of 
hell, than ours. It is from overlooking this great fact in 
the natural history of man that numerous misconceptions 
are entertained. We smile at their interpretations of 
natural phenomena, — Yulcan fabricating Jupiter's thunder- 
bolts; Ceres, the goddess of corn, first teaching men to 
plough the ground; the gods of the rivers pouring out the 
fertilizing floods from the urns they hold in their hands. 
In all these explanations they sought not natural or scien- 
tific reasons, and held them in no estimation ; they merely 
sought the indulgence of their religious tastes and propen- 
sities, the gratification of that temporary instinct with 
which all rude nations are endowed, and for the wisest 
purposes, that a foundation may be laid in religion, and in 
impressions of the Deity, for the future and perfect super- 
structure of human society. And shall we say that these 
impressions are all false and absurd ? The images in which 
they are represented may be so, the type may be badly or 
unfaithfully struck, but still the design and end of the 



LECTURE V. 123 

impression is just ; much more so than when science mingles 
itself with theology, and breaks the integrity of the impres- 
sion in the attempt to copy it. In the first instance the 
impression may be imperfect from the defect of the material 
on which it is made, but yet may still be in a certain sense 
divine and original ; but the copy taken of it by science is 
clearly artificial, and therefore a counterfeit. So far, there- 
fore, from its being made a reproach against religion that 
its forms spring up among a rude and illiterate people, it is 
perhaps the best guaranty of its truth and reality that it 
has originated among such a people : the impressible and 
infantile faculties only were then developed; and the 
elementary characters of nature, in which is written the 
will of the Deity, were then read in their natural, pure, and 
unsophisticated light, and, w^hen afterwards reduced to 
artificial writing, it was not as a matter of philosophy or 
abstract reasoning, for that springs from science, but as 
matter of fact still, — matter of fact revealing theological 
truth. Thus, when they looked at the heaven and the 
earth, not with the eyes of science, but with the eyes of 
religion, they recognized that the gods had formed these. 

When the human mind was in this stage of its develop- 
ment in Asia, through that benignant Providence which 
has produced all this beneficent order which we behold, a 
revelation was made to man of the one true and living God. 
If it be asked why the same distinct and vivid and im- 
pressive revelation is not made now in the same way in 
ordinary men, I ask in return why the circulation of the 
bloody for instance, should be different in the adult from 
what it is in the foetus ? " The physical circumstances have 
altogether changed," you say ; and in the other the spiritual 
circumstances have altogether changed. And if there is no 
violation of the order of nature, as we choose to call it, 
merely in consequence of a new direction given to the cur- 
rent of the vital fluid, why should we deem it any infringe- 



124 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

ment of the established laws of spiritual order that the 
flow of the divine truth through the human soul should 
take place differently now and in the infantile states of 
human society? And are there not tem;porary divine pro- 
visions to be expected in the one case as well as in the 
other, — in the moral development of the species, just as 
naturally and rightly as in the physical development of the 
individual? And judging from the aspect of one stage of 
the development, w^hat good reason have we to establish, 
from that partial view, the necessary and indispensable 
order of the whole? The laws of creation, no doubt, are 
unchangeable, but we must be sure that we take in the 
whole, from the first to the last, in pronouncing upon them, 
especially where there is a visible progression, as in the case 
of the human species. 

And what shall we say to another view of the subject, — 
if there did exist, as we firmly believe there did, antecedently 
to the art of writing and our present modes of reasoning, 
a people who derived from the simple instincts of their 
being (the sweet, and clear, and unequivocal impressions of 
their Maker's Hand and Mind on their minds) the perfect 
and distinct consciousness that He is One, and the Author 
of all which they beheld good and beautiful, — I say, if it 
could have been made known to this people, through the 
anticipations of prophecy, that there would arise after them 
a race of men who would gather all these impressions and 
thoughts and this knowledge, not from their own minds and 
the direct communications of Grod, but from books, — from 
without, and certain artificial marks called writing, s^ndi 
sounds still more artificial, and certain heaps and combina- 
tions of these called reasoning, but so confused and indis- 
tinct withal that angry conflicts and much uncertaintj^ 
would prevail respecting even the most elementary and 
vital truths, to themselves so clear and indisputable, as, for 
example, respecting the being of God, and the kind of 



LECTURE y. 125 

worship most aeeej^table to Him, — could such simple people 
have readily conceived all this, or seen how it could possibly 
occur unless as something miraculous ? That they would 
not readily have believed it, we are not at liberty to think, 
since even the shadow of infidelity was to them unknown, 
and we suppose the intimations of the prophecy to have 
been divine. In fact, it is most unphilosophical to suppose 
that the same mode of becoming intelligent existed in all 
ages as now ; especially since we see in the eastern nations 
even now, as well as among barbarians, that those faculties 
by which men apprehend a Deity of some sort or other are 
more developed among them than among others. And there 
are therefore the strongest grounds for the presumption 
(even if we were not otherwise informed of it) that at a 
period much anterior to our modern civilization a revelation 
of the one God was made to mankind, when the simple fact 
could be admitted with reverence and undoubting belief, 
and the integrity and justness of those sublime impressions 
be left pure and uncontaminated by the touch of an earth- 
born philosophy. If this be so, then we have arrived at an 
important fact in the natural history of man, a fact greatly 
more valuable than any we have yet hit ujDon ; for if this 
be actually so, — namely, that the religious impressions of 
the universe, the divine characters written on it, be the first 
that are stamped upon the human mind, and this, too, 
through a marked law and ordination of the Deity for the 
sake of the future well-being of all succeeding generations, 
— that as the heart and brain are the organs first developed 
in the new-formed man, being those most essential to 
physical life, so the religious miyid is the first unfolded in 
the progress of nations, and the religious impressions are 
the first made, being the most essential to the social state, — 
it will follow that, in all the early writings and monuments 
of the first ages, religion must predominate over science, 
God over nature, and nature over art. 

11* 



126 NATURAL HISTORY OP MAN. 

'Now, you will recollect that we showed, in a former 
lecture, that it was possible so to regard an animal as to 
see nothing more in it but what is merely mechanical, and 
that some have so considered animals, — " living machines ;" 
but this is to invert the order of view ; and certainly the 
natural as well as right perception is to regard first the 
animal, and to consider the mechanical aspect as but the 
basis or subservient ground on which the idea of the 
animal is rendered only more conspicuous and illustrious. 
And thus it is that the reigning idea, as it were, bends and 
turns everything into itself. If the mechanical be first 
regarded, contrary to the natural, however, as well as 
right perception, even the animal itself may at last be 
affirmed to be a machine ; but contrariwise, if the animal 
be first regarded, then even the very mechanism of the 
parts itself will come correctly to be considered as animal. 
And in this we can see an emblem and illustration of the 
religion of the first ages : as respects the mechanical or 
physical laws of nature, they neither affirmed nor denied 
them; their minds were altogether intent on a different 
idea, — and that was God ; and everything was seen under 
the light of that perception, until even time and space 
themselves vanished like shadows beneath its brilliancy. 
Organization, mechanism, natural occurrences, were all things, 
but merely subservient things; this was the note first 
struck, and it vibrated afterwards through the entire 
frame-work of nature — In the beginning God created the 
HEAVEN AND THE EARTH. Ecad and remark how this pre- 
dominant idea recurs in every succeeding verse of that glo- 
rious chapter of creation ; read and you will perceive how 
our modern science dwindles into insignificance beneath the 
majesty of a pure and ancient religion; how even time and 
space themselves, on which all our science is built, sink 
into obscurity and littleness before the face of Him who 
created them, and to whom a thousand years are but as 



LECTURE V. 127 

one day. God said, Let the dry land appear, and it was so : 
here an entire series of physical revolutions of immense 
extent are contracted into an instant, in order that the 
mind may see that the emergence of the new continents 
from the seaistheactofDivineomnij)otence and providence; 
and it is not the less so although geology and the scrutiny 
of science should now indicate that it may have occupied 
many millions of years in its accomplishment. God said, 
Let the dry land appear, and it was so : here the theological 
truth predominates over the scientific truth, and affects us 
accordingly with its natural and true sublimity. 

But on these subjects a hint is enough ; it is my business, 
in these lectures, not to expound theology, but to exhibit 
the natural history of man and the rise of philosophy. I 
would merely sum up all I have to say on this subject with 
this affirmation and comparison, that as in the body of man 
there is nothing which is not human, while at the same time 
the animal and mechanical are therein in subserviency to 
this, and humanized, so in that body of revealed truth there 
exists nothing at all which is not divine and religious, and 
that all that is geological and historical is but subserviently 
so, and exists not by any means for itself alone, but as a 
body of matter to support, to exhibit, and to convey the 
other. But, as I have said, the order of mental faculties 
pre-eminently developed in modern ages is scientific, and 
hence it is that, in our constant hankering after science, 
we seek it even in the divine Scriptures, forgetting that it 
is there merely subservient, not principal, imbued with a 
light not its own, as the matter which becomes part of a 
living body is endowed with its vitality. In the natural 
history of man, I have had already occasion to show the 
error of those who do not see in the animal body the ariimal 
so blended with the mechanical and the chemical, that 
these merely seem to be, the other really is, all, — and again, 
in the human body, the human so intimately blended with 



128 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

the animal, tliat the former is everything, the latter only 
appears to be. I am now called upon to note a more 
dangerous error, that of those who, in the interpretation 
of a Book compiled in the earlier ages, under the espe- 
cial providence of God, when theology was principally 
regarded, do not see that the divine is there so blended 
with the human and the natural that the human and the 
natural have become themselves divine, — 

"Fountain of light, thyself invisible 
Amidst the glorious brightness where thou sit'st 
Throned inaccessible, but when thou shad'st 
The full blaze of thy beams, and through a cloud 
Drawn round about thee^ like a radiant shrine, — 
Dark with excessive bright thy skirts a'pjpearV 

But I am glad to be able to illustrate this subject in a 
different manner, and from a source which will not be con- 
sidered undeserving of attention, although delicacy forbids 
me more particularly to disclose it. 

" The engraving was a very remarkable one," said the 
stranger, " and such that I had never before seen anj^thing 
resembling it." 

" What engraving do you mean?" said I. 

" That tablet of stone which I before spoke of to you, 
but to which you did not seem to pay much attention." 

" Pray describe it more minutely," said I ; "it may per- 
haps be interesting to those who are present to hear your 
own account of it." 

" It was shown to me," said he, " by the philosopher, 
who also gave me a very particular account of the signifi- 
cation of each hieroglyphic object which was impressed 
upon the tablet, and which greatly interested me. He said 
that such representations were common in the eastern 
country, and that I would see them particularly in the 
interior of the Chinese emjoire. This tablet of which I 



LECTURE V. 129 

speak belonged to the Temple of the Sun, a ruined edifice, 
for the Persians are no longer permitted to indulge in their 
favorite worship of this beneficent luminary ; ' but,' said 
the philosopher, ' many monuments still remain throughout 
the whole country of this fascinating species of ancient 
idolatry.' 

" ' But it was a pernicious species of idolatry,' observed I. 

" ' Not so anciently,' answered the philosopher, ' for the 
idolatry was attempered and elevated by a rational concep- 
tion of the meaning of the emblems employed in the wor- 
ship and the unity of God, and his beneficence and wisdom 
were imaged in the rites which were anciently observed ; 
but I know not how it is,' he further remarked, ' there is an 
extreme proneness in all the Oriental nations to forget the 
object in the representation, — to lose sight of the idea, and 
to reverence only the type. We have had most perfect and 
expressive rites in which to symbolize the Godhead, and to 
exhibit the relations of men to the source of intelligence 
and life, but they soon became to us dead and inert forms 
of objects, — books which none can read and understand, 
but which all are willing bliudlyand stupidly to reverence.' 

" ' But that could hardly happen in regard to this en- 
graving on this tablet,' said I, ' for, although I do not un- 
derstand it, yet it seems to me so divine, and expressive of 
glorious truths of some order or other, that I cannot help 
admiring it, and feeling that there is somewhat lofty and 
intelligent even in those mute figures which are imj)ressed 
upon it.' 

" The philosopher then exposed it more fully to view, so 
that I might see every part of it. It was a large circular 
stone, which you would have suj^posed, from the appear- 
ance, although the circle seemed perfect and of great 
extent, had not been hewn out into that form artificially, 
but had always existed so naturally. It was marked with 
innumerable zones, formed by concentric circles from the 



130 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

centre towards the circumference. I tried to count them, 
but I found I could not, for, although they seemed at first 
very, distinct and well defined, yet, when I attempted to 
distinguish them closely, they ran into one another in so 
intricate a manner that I soon abandoned the attempt as 
hopeless. 

" ' This is very remarkable,' said I to the philosopher ; ' I 
thought these concentric spaces or zones on this tablet were 
very exactly defined, but, the moment I attempt to ascer- 
tain and to number them, all instantly appears confusion, 
and I lose my distinct impressions of the tablet.' 

" ' That,' said he, ' is what almost all strangers complain 
of, those especially who are more curious than ordinary ; 
for the greater part are satisfied with this superficial or 
general glance of it, and never lose the vividness of their 
first impression, but leave it with an admiration perfect and 
entire.' 

" ' This, I suppose,' said I, ' is a part of the wonder or 
mystery of this tablet.' 

" ' Certainly,' said he, Mt is full of significancy. But 
look,' said he, ' more attentively on the zones ; what do you 
see?' 

" ' I have noticed,' said I, ' from the first, that each of 
them is stocked with animals or living creatures which are 
peculiar to each zone, and not found in any of the others. 
At this part seem to me to be zebras, filling this entire 
space, — it is very wonderful ! — I thought the limits within 
which they are confined remarkably distinct and clear; but 
now — as I stoop more closely to examine the lines — I am 
again confused. But there — I am sure that orbit is stocked 
with elephants, — how well stamped are these figures, with 
what a skilful chisel has all this been executed ! and this 
zone I recognize as assigned to — horses, I believe, — and 
here, I am certain, are the sheep, — and here, again, are 
oxen, — this is wonderfully done; but these birds in alto 



LECTURE V. 131 

relievo^ how dexterously are they placed there ! — but that 
farthest extremity,' said I, ' what does it represent?' 

" ' The ocean,' said he, ' which you read of in ^schylus, 
the Greek tragedian, as surrounding the world, for so their 
imaginations conceived of it, not as a fact, but from such 
tablet as this, whereon the nature of things was represented 
to them.' 

" ' This, then,' said I, ' is a picture or representation of the 
earth, or of universal nature, which I behold ?' 

" ' No,' said he, ' it is not an ordinary picture, or en- 
graving, or map of nature, which you are now looking on, 
but something of a more sacred and higher character. But 
you shall see.' 

" Then withdrawing from the tablet to some distance, and 
taking his position there, he desired me to approach him. 
'This consecrated tablet,' said he, 'belonged, as I have in- 
formed you, to the Temple of the Sun ; what artist engraved 
it or designed it is not known ; it is of very high antiquity, 
and many of the figures are now nearly obliterated by age, 
although so great is the number indented upon it, and so 
curiously are these zones you have attempted to trace 
arranged, that none have yet been able to tell either the 
number of them or their exact limits, or to enumerate the 
species of animals — whether quadrupeds, birds, fishes, or 
insects — which seem to crowd every part of it, and yet on 
further examination are found to be confined each to its 
own appropriate zone : and you see what numbers of fishes,' 
said he, ' on the farther circumference.' 

" I again took a cursory view of the tablet, from the new 
position I now occupied, and afterwards a more minute one, 
and I was astonished to find that it seemed again in many 
respects new to me, and I could discover a greater variety 
of all sorts of living creatures on its surface than I had 
been able to detect before in the first position from which 
I viewed it. But I still noticed the same distinct appear- 



132 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

ance of the concentric circles and interposed zones, each 
teeming with its own inhabitants. ' Here,' said I, ' is order 
indeed, but yet what a labj^rinth ! it is an order that bids 
defiance to all my faculties of discrimination to mark it.' 

" ' Be contented,' said he ; ' you will discover the order 
more perfectly when you do not endeavor to grasp it with 
too close an inspection : it is number without number, and 
limit without limit ; it is finiteness to the careless glance, 
but infiniteness when more attentively regarded.' 

" ' I observe it to be so,' said I, ' for, again endeavoring 
to trace these apparently very symmetrical lines, I find 
myself again lost in confusion.' 

" ' Do not again,' said he, ' make the attempt ; you will 
learn more by a cursory observation. But follow me hither, 
and receive the impression of this tablet from a still nearer 
position. Eemember, I told you the engraving was con- 
secrated to the Temple of the Sun ; let us watch, then, the 
successive gleams of the sun's light that fall upon it, as we 
look through this thick foliage which now intercepts it from 
our view. Watch ; you will see reason to admire still more 
the skill and ingenuity of the sacred artist who designed 
this work, for I can assure you he was no ordinary person, 
but not less remarkable for his philosophy than for his art. 
But do not look too partially, but as it were negligently, 
and on the whole design at once, and through the shade of 
these green boughs. What do you see ?' said he. 

" ' This is very wonderful, indeed ! and the perfection and 
triumph of art,' said I ; ' I see nothing now on that tablet 
but a most graceful and perfect human figure, the most 
beautiful and animated I have ever before seen engraven 
on stone or impressed on canvas. These, then,' said I, ' are 
your arts in the East ; they indeed surpass all that I have 
ever beheld ; and no paintings or sculptures which I have 
ever seen are to be compared with this mystic repre- 
sentation.' 



LECTURE V. 133 

" ' It is indeed,' said the philosopher, '■ very wonderful, 
and deserving of all the praise you can bestow upon it. 
But such works are not the product of modern ingenuity. 
Genius and the sight of true beauty are now extinct 
among men ; but for these the Magi among the Persians 
were formerly celebrated, and their arts of design and ex- 
pression were such visible representations of their philo- 
sophical discoveries or opinions. For I sujDpose you are 
now aware what was designed to be represented by this 
engraving ?' 

" ' I see distinctly,' said I, ' and I beg you will more fully 
explain some of these particulars, and especially this last 
phenomenon of the engraving, which croAvns the interest 
of the whole.' 

" ' You discern more clearly now,' said he, ' than you did 
before, that the tablet was not designed to be a representa- 
tion merely of nature, but visibly to show an opinion 
entertained by the artist respecting man, and the specific 
and general order of nature. That there is an order, a 
plan, and an arrangement, in nature, observed by the Deity 
in the construction of the universe, he indicated by these 
lines so distinctly drawn, and which you saw so clearly at 
a first glance; but that at the same time this order is 
such that it cannot be exactly discovered or described by 
science, and the unlimited and infinite be drawn within the 
boundaries and limits of the finite, is shown to the life and 
graphically by that confusion which you complained of as 
springing uj) in your mind when you would attempt 
studiously to trace out the marks of these zones and 
boundaries. Nature has indeed her boundaries and land- 
marks of sacred observation, but they are always most 
obvious to the most unj)retending observers; to these 
they are deeply and distinctly visible on the broad and 
unartificial tablet of nature's engraving. But that you 
find distinct spaces filled with specific classes of animals, 

12 



134 NATURAL HISTORY OP MAN. 

the sacred artist (for he must have been at once a priest 
and a philosopher; the two were united in the ancient 
Magi) meant thereby to designate that the brute irrational 
animals are confined in their range of existence, not only 
as respects their localities, but also those instincts with 
which they are endowed, and those uses for which they 
are adapted. For this is a remark of antiquity, and par- 
ticularly noted in the writings and in the wisdom of the 
ancients, that each species of animals is circumscribed 
within a narrow zone of existence, the boundaries of which 
are very exactty established. All the uses of the horse, 
for instance, could soon be catalogued, and these are at the 
same time inscribed on his form, which bears the natural 
brands and marks of his distinctive nature, — his hoof indi- 
cating his mode of travelling, the form of his back adapted 
to the rider, the instinctive love of approbation attaching 
him to his master, the natural spring of all his limbs form- 
ing a living vehicle. Take the ox, — ^take the sheep, — their 
certain, their unvarying instincts, and the form and shape 
of their bodies, and their social predisposition, show how 
specific their use is, and also how confined ; and note also 
all the classes of the feathered tribes, — and you will find 
on all of them impressed the natural words denoted by 
these terms in artificial, local, partial, exclusive, instrumental, 
subordinate. This the artist, the designer of this tablet, 
had noted in long observation, and impressed upon his 
mind ; he had seen in this manner the grand idea of the 
universe parcelled out by the divine and original Artist 
himself into many characters which thus became imitable; 
for had not the Deity condescended thus to reveal the 
glory of his unity, in a marked variety of harmonizing 
parts, the conception of the work of God, as the work of 
God, would have been beyond the grasp of a finite intelli- 
gence ; but it is a beautiful condescension of the Creator 
that he has thus exhibited his whole work in parts limited 



LECTURE V. 135 

and bounded, so that we might recognize it and perceive 
it, and in some measure describe it and faintly imitate it, 
which we never could have done in the least if it had not 
been put up in parts, and so rendered subject to analysis 
and accessible to intelligent admiration. This the Persian 
artist understood ; he saw, from the arrangement or plan 
or order of nature actually adopted, that it was perceptible 
and yet not comprehensible^ that we can apprehend but not 
comprehend the works of God ; for this reason were those 
spaces so marked off on this mystic tablet of art that they 
are limited and defined to the first glance and the popular 
apprehension, — they are apprehended readily, but if you 
will try yet a third time to follow these boundaries to their 
beginnings or their endings, you will again find yourself 
lost in inextricable confusion, and, instead of seeing your 
way better, you will find it more entangled. But yet is it 
not clear as day that all these parts exist, and that the 
animal kingdom is a whole, and unit, composed of many 
parts ?' " 

Here the stranger informed us that he again interposed, 
and observed to the philosopher that he could now discover 
a glimpse of the grand design of the artist; "but tell me," 
said he to the philosopher, "there is yet one thing I do 
not understand, and that is to myself the most marvellous 
of all : at this third station, and through this intervening 
bough of green leaves, as the light of the sun fell upon 
the sculptured figures, — in that mellowed and attempered 
light, we discovered, as you showed me, no longer the 
figures individually, but the whole together, as a man ! 
This appears to me a most exquisite effect of art, and I 
apprehend the philosophical emblem intended by it must 
be no less astonishing and grand, although I confess I do 
not well understand it." 

"You perceive," said the philosopher, "when you in- 
spected the whole of these grouped figures, in all their 



136 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

compartments, after having looked attentively as well 
as cursorily at all of them, you did not find the human 
figure." 

" I did not," said he, "and I was rather surprised at that, 
although I did not express my surprise." 

" But," said the philosopher, " you shall now understand 
it: for you perceive that each one of these animals is a 
specific or partial thing; these bounded spaces within 
which they range, each race apart, show that distinctly ; 
none of these, then, is lord, there is none so powerful or 
prevailing that his zone extends over the whole," 

"J^one," said the stranger. 

" Then," said the philosopher, " here is the mastery of 
the artist, and here, too, the superiority of his philosophy : 
if man had occupied a zone there in alto or hasso relievo^ 
although covered with the hues of golden light and re- 
splendent with the beams of heaven, he still would have 
ranked among the animals, of which yet he is the lord, and 
he would have taken on a local character, when neverthe- 
less no localities can bound his dominions or his superiority. 
The artist, through this signal device, by which you were 
enabled to see only the human figure gloriously displayed, 
here now from this third position, amid this intervening 
foliage and in that softened light, has told more by his 
chisel, and this entrancing view of its eff'ects, than all the 
words of the Persian language ever could have made 
known of the relations of man to the rest of the animal 
creation, — far more, I am afraid, than I could now explain 
to you, but yet I will attempt it." 

" Do so, I beseech you," said the stranger. 

" It seems to me," said the philosopher, " he probably 
meant — for such in some degree was the philosophy of the 
ancient Magi — he probably meant to show that man holds 
under him, as parts of himself, the specific appetites and 
dispositions of the whole animal creation, and that these. 



LECTURE V. 137 

in their individual genera, typify, as animals, parts of their 
sovereign and lord, each reflecting, so to speak, some attri- 
bute or affection of the rational human being, which emblem 
is the livery which they wear, and by which they stand 
acknowledged his servants, and obedient and submissive to 
his sway. Thus they are altogether rudimental, animal 
outlines of his form, and emulating his perfection, — rude 
sculptured figures in stone, — fragments of a great design, 
but which is not understood, until the man is seen which 
gives relief to the whole ; but neither is man discovered but 
in that light of the sun which is shed on creation when 
forthwith nature becomes the mirror of God, and his 
image alone is revealed amid the profusion of created 
objects, and philosophy beholds it from the secluded retreats 
of nature, through the soft and attempered light of science 
and of wisdom." 

" You consider, then," said the stranger, " that man is the 
image of God reflected on the mirror of nature, and that 
philosophy, from her third and favorite position, in the 
light of heaven, its glare softened through science, this 
bough of tender leaves, is enabled to discover this." 

" My friend," said the philosopher, " I am not very sure 
that I explain this design to you successfully. I propose 
to you only hints. I have been myself often and again 
here to survey this mystic tablet, and I am never able alto- 
gether to satisfy myself as to its entire import. It seemed 
to me just now that I could put you in perfect possession 
of the intentions of the artist ; I seemed to have grasped 
the bold outlines of the enigmatical representation, but, 
when I have tried to make them known to you, like that 
tracery of divine order on the stone itself which you sought 
to follow up, it seems in a great measure to have escaped 
me. But I beseech you look again on that tablet itself, 
as the gleams of sunshine fall upon it and between these 
soft green leaves, and mark once more the entire sculptured 

12* 



138 NATURAL HISTORY OP MAN. 

hieroglyphics of animated nature, — how beautiMly, how 
perfectly they portray to our view the human form divine, 
in glorious lineaments." 

"I cannot but admire," said the stranger, "an art so 
perfect as this ; but surely art is never so beautiful as when 
it reflects the philosophy of religion and of man." 

" The art," said the philosopher, " is almost too beautiful ; 
I could almost wish it had been less so. It was through 
art that the Persians at last, and all the East, fell into 
idolatry ; they emblematized so perfectly their ideas of God 
that the ignorant multitude, instead of having their minds 
raised to Gi-od by the arts which spoke of his goodness and 
wisdom, had, on the contrarj^, their minds drawn down 
from their Maker and fixed on the art, which thus became 
the object of their idolatry. And so were the gifts of God, 
which are these powers of embodying just conceptions, at 
last converted into the means of dishonoring or forgetting 
Him." 

" Your Magi, then," said the stranger, " were at one time 
wise and intelligent." 

" Yes, truly," replied the philosopher, " but their wisdom 
has been eclipsed by some sad clouds of error and igno- 
rance ; and even in Christendom I perceive that these clouds 
have also come over your bright sun of revelation." 

" You are not ignorant, then, of what has befallen us in 
Christendom ?" 

" Why should I ? I am myself a devotee of the Christian 
religion ; the apostle Thomas travelled in the East ; the 
good seed has not all been choked." 

" But you admire these relics of heathen temples ?" 

" I do, for they are fragments, obscured and shattered, of 
a noble revelation once akin to Christianity." 

" I should like to see that," said the stranger. 

"And you may see it," said the philosopher, — "but on 
another occasion." 



LECTURE Y. 139 

" None so suitable as the present," said the stranger, '• for 
the sun has still to run ere he dip his evening disk in the 
Eed Sea." 

But the philosopher could not be prevailed upon more 
fully to explain his sentiments on the subject so as to be 
intelligible ; but he made some additional remarks of a 
profound nature, " which," said the stranger, " I cannot 
now recall, and did not at the time fully comprehend. But 
he sjDoke much of our sacred books, and of the low estima- 
tion in which we held them from ignorance of their real 
value, or a distaste of the wisdom contained in them : ' but,' 
said he, ' even St. Augustine might have taught you better, 
for he was not insensible to their true worth. Time, said 
St. Augustine, began with creation, and its periods are dis- 
tinguished by evening and morning ; but whence proceeded 
those distinctions, for as yet during three days no sun had 
gleamed from the firmament, he could only conjecture, but 
his conjecture was sublime, and showed a mind allied with 
the greatness of the subject, — that this light was derived 
from the City of God, the supernal abodes of the blessed, 
and that the evening and the morning were the shade 
and dawning of intelligence in human souls, through the 
Creator's word.' 

" ' But was he right ?' 

" ' The subject,' said he, ' is too profound, — and other 
duties require my attention. But you will think on the 
tablet of mystery, and the image of creation im^^ressed 
upon it : your own sacred books will teach you the rest ; 
read them, and be wise.' " 



140 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 



LECTURE VI. 

ANCIENT RELIGION AND MODERN 
SCIENCE. 



I WILL read a passage from St. Augustine, connected 
with the subject of the last lecture, and which will serve 
to elucidate certain texts of sacred Scripture which I shall 
have occasion to produce at our present meeting ; for, as 
my theme is distinct from theology, and yet it is important 
that its sacred light should be shed upon the subject, as it 
w^ere, to illuminate the canvas of history and enhance its 
interest, I gladly avail myself of a passage which contains 
the explanation which I wanted, and w^hich you can bear 
in mind and apply when necessary without further refer- 
ence to it on my part. Non sic loquitur angelis Deus, 
quomodo nos invicem loquimur vel ipsi angeli nobis. Dei 
quippe sublimior ante suum factum locutio ipsius sui facti 
est immutabilis ratio, quae non habet sonum strepentem 
atque transeuntem, sed vim sempiterne manentem et tem- 
poraliter operantem. Hac loquitur Deus angelis Sanctis, 
nobis autem aliter longe positis. Quando autem etiam nos 
aliquid tale locutionis interioribus auribus capimus, angelis 
propinquamus : aut enim Veritas incommutabilis per seipsam 
ineffabiliter loquitur, rationalis creaturge mentibus, aut per 
mutabilem creaturam loquitur, sive spiritalibus imaginibus 
nostro spiritui, sive corporalibus vocibus corporis sensui. 
(De Civ. Dei, 1. 16. c. 6.) God speaks not so to the angels. 



LECTURE YI. 141 

as we speak to each otlier, or angels to us. For the speech 
OF God, which produces the works of creation, is that 
immutable reason from which they flow and by which 
they are perfected; not an evanescent voice merely, but a 
living energy, reaching to the farthest extremities of nature, 
and the most distant ages. In this manner God speaks to 
his holy angels, but to them audibly, to us otherwise, on 
account of our grosser apprehension. But when we per- 
ceive' through our internal ears some faint notices of this 
divine speech, we approach the angels in our privileges : for 
it is indeed the unchangeable truth which speaks to the 
minds of the rational creation, to the faculties of the soul 
through images addressed to it, or to the body in whose 
organs of sense the soul watches and inclines to hear. 

I spoke in my last lecture of the spirit of the early ages 
as pre-eminently religious, particularly in Asia; and this 
character still distinguishes the nations of that quarter of 
the globe. They have not passed yet far beyond the first 
stage of advancement ; they are overwhelmed and almost 
oppressed by the idea of God ; among them God is every- 
thing, man nothing ; and this spirit is carried into all the 
studies of the intellect ; among them natural history is lost 
in the splendor of the Deity ; so deep and intense is the 
glory of the Creator shed upon his works, as to darken 
them even with an excess of effulgence ; they have no 
inclination to investigate what is called the natural process 
or natural law of the work, surrounded as it is with the 
mysterious halo of the glory of the Workman. This is a 
highly useful class of feelings, and — no doubt for great 
ends — these were the earliest feelings developed in the 
human family ; they softened the heart, and made it a fit 
tablet to receive the just impressions of the laws of God, 
that character might be stamped on the earlier stage of 
human society never afterwards to be obliterated, and to 
which the intelligence of after ages might gladly recur, to 



142 NATURAL HISTORY OP MAN. 

renew their fading impressions of divine power and good- 
ness, as in the maturity of life we have recourse to the early 
impressions of our childhood for the natural ideas of objects. 
But this is a stage in the history of nations which must 
necessarily be a temporary one ; for, although it be a mo- 
mentous truth, necessary to be often recalled, that we live 
in the presence of an omnipotent and all-seeing Creator, yet 
this consideration was not intended habitually to subdue 
our faculties, and, as it were, to crush our natural energies ^ 
but, on the contrary, we know it to be a part of the benefi- 
cence of the Divine Being to appear to withdraw himself 
occasionally, like a kind and in.dulgent father, from the view 
of his children, in order that this overwhelming awe may 
be taken off our spirits, and we be left, as it were, to the 
playfulness of our own joyous and active minds. It cer- 
tainly is not the intention of the Parent of the universe 
that those natural faculties which He has given us should 
be crushed under the sense of his presence, but rather 
that they should be directed to find their appropriate 
recreation and means of expansion in that profusion of 
material objects which are scattered around us. But it is 
not these natural and scientific faculties which are most 
energetically developed in the earlier stages of society, but, 
on the contrary, the religious affections of mankind, so that 
the sense of the Creator is much more vivid and distinct 
than the knowledge of his works, — and from obvious 
reason, since religion must first bind mankind together in 
society before science can be expected to benefit them ; it 
is more important to acknowledge God than to understand 
nature, and faith is superior to philosophy. 

God said, Let the dry land appear : and it ivas so : inas- 
much as it was indispensable that we should know that 
these blooming continents which adorn our globe rose at 
the will and bidding of an intelligent and beneficent Creator, 
therefore this communication is first made to mankind, and 



LECTURE VI. 143 

the synopsis of the event, without any respect to the time 
which it occupied in the accomplishment, is presented to 
the view, as a convenient tablet on which the important 
truth is inscribed, — that the continents of the inhabited 
earth have emerged from the ocean, not by any dark law 
of fate, not by any nature independent of God, but, really 
and truly, by the order and will of God : God said. Let the 
dry land appear : and it was so. And it is this idea after- 
wards which sheds light and glory on the whole of crea- 
tion, — we do not always think of it, we do not often inter- 
pret our own feelings on such occasions, or express our 
thoughts even to ourselves ; but it is this first truth which 
we received from revelation — that " in the beginning God 
created the heaven and the earth" — which clothes the 
mountains with that sublimity which we discover in them 
as they raise their heads to heaven, which invests the 
smiling landscapes of our wide and far-spreading continent 
with the tints of loveliness and beauty. "What would all 
be — the most perfect exhibition of nature — unless recom- 
mended to our love and admiration by those ideas of God, 
enlivened by that spirit which emanat-es from early reve- 
lation, when God said, Let the earth bring forth grass, the 
herb yielding seed, and the fruit tree yielding fruit after its 
ki7id, whose seed is in itself upon the earth : and it was so : it 
comes over us like the recollections of infancy, as reviving 
and as true. And these impressions were far more to them 
than physical truth is to us ; and indeed it is to these ^rs^ 
impressions that physical truth now is indebted for the 
greater part of its attractions. And this observation brings 
at once the spirit of our own times before us. The theology 
of creation was revealed to the earliest ages, the science of 
creation is now beginning to be revealed to us ; and these 
two points of time afford favorable positions from which 
to consider the natural history of man, and the rise and 
progress of his philosophy. 



144 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

It seems very improbable that the early nations reflected 
at all on the science of creation ; it was not the geology, 
but the theology of the subject, which interested them. It 
was enough for them to know that the dry land appeared, 
stocked with innumerable tribes of living creatures, and 
covered with a superabundance of varied vegetation for 
their use and enjoyment, and to be informed that all this 
distinction and variety and harmony of objects was the 
result of successive acts of creative Intelligence ; and they 
cared not what length of time each act may have required 
for its perfect manifestation. It was sufficient for them to 
see that there was an order, and that God was the author 
of this, as well as the creation itself. Hence they knew, 
from that divine inspiration which pervaded their minds, 
that the world was created by God, and in six days, for so 
they expressed these distinct and successive periods, and 
they inquired no further into the subject ; but they felt and 
perceived that there rested on the bosom of nature a calm 
and serene repose, — which forbade them to harbor the idea 
of haste or precipitation, confusion or disorder, in the 
different steps of the proceeding, — in the production of 
that magnificent whole whose perfection they contem- 
plated. But it was the mental and the religious and the 
divine, and not the temporal or the material or the geo- 
logical, which appeared to their minds and interested their 
affections ; hence there was produced in that stage of human 
society an order of pure and exalted truths which science 
never can improve, as she never could have discovered 
them ; all she can do is prepare the way for their reception. 

Science can discover no new truth in regard to the per- 
sonal existence of God, or his unity, or his spiritual attri- 
butes ; but she is limited to the investigation of his works. 
Science never could have found out the beautiful truth 
announced to us in these simple words, " God said. Let the 
dry land appear, and it was so ;" but science can now 



LECTURE VI. 145 

explore the work thus created, and whatever ideas space 
and time can unfold to her on this mighty theme she can 
faithfully record and very distinctly demonstrate ; but in 
vain might she attempt to impugn or protect a truth which 
transcends at once her means and her efforts. But yet it 
is to be confessed that it is this truth, made known through 
religion to the earliest ages, which confers the most delight- 
ful interest on modern science, particularly on that of geol- 
ogy. After having been informed that " God said. Let the 
dry land appear, and it was so," we proceed with the most 
lively and cheerful anticipations to examine the physical 
aspects of that magnificent work, thus announced to have 
been accomplished by Omnipotence. 

When we behold a full-grown man in the perfection of 
vigor and health, the splendor of reason and intelligence, 
and are informed that " God created man in his own image, 
after his likeness," we are attracted with tenfold interest to 
the examination of the object which is placed before us, and 
the structure of his mind and body, and the successive 
developments of the parts and proportions of each. And 
with what delight do we then learn the particulars of his 
history, — that he existed at one time in a condition very 
different from the present, — until his formation, namely, was 
complete, — when he was ushered into the world with his 
organs and senses already adapted for a residence here ; but 
that his limbs were still frail, until developed and strength- 
ened through their infantile play; and that then at last he 
rose on his feet and essayed to walk, which he accomplished 
at first with difficulty, and at length with ease; and that 
in the mean time his soul expanded as his body grew ; and 
that his intellectual and moral faculties, corresponding with 
his outward form, spread forth gradually and ripened into 
perfection, until at last he became both mentally and cor- 
poreally that noble being which we first beheld, worthy 
to be considered the chef d'muvre of creation. But when 

13 



146 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

science has explored the entire physical process of the 
work or its mental contours, and discovered what she 
terms the laws of growth and development in body and in 
mind, has she disconcerted in the least, or at all interfered 
with, or contravened in any degree, that other truth before 
announced through revelation, — namely, that God formed 
man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his 
nostrils the breath of life ? It remains firm and unshaken 
as on an immovable rock. The same observations apply, 
and with equal force, to the labors of modern geologists : 
they do not in the least affect those truths before announced 
in regard to the creation of the world, and for this simple 
reason, that they refer not to the workman, but to the 
physical characters of the work. 

This distinction now begins to be understood, and will 
be so more and more, as the truths of religion and the 
truths of science are seen to be of different orders, some- 
times apparently blended, but never actually confounded. 
Eut religion is the elder born, and takes precedence of 
science, and sheds her own warm light upon her, which 
science is sometimes fain to claim as her own. Herein she 
errs, for she has no inherent light but what is natural. 
But I see them rise, and each in its own epoch and its 
native majesty ! Eeligion as the sun, but risen indeed 
many years ago, even at the birth of creation ; and now, 
after having impressed its beams on every object, and hal- 
lowed each, inclined, as it were, to sink in the west, to leave 
the world for a space, to be remembered rather than seen, 
for such is the estimation in which religion is now held. 
But lo ! there rises eastward another orb, reflecting a sober 
and borrowed light ; science has her just emblem in the 
moon, — and our modern ages, so tender is our intellectual 
sight, seem disposed to prefer this feebler radiance ; and it 
may be well, or it may be necessary for a time ; but, at all 
events, the two are now distinctly recognized, the one, — as 



LECTURE VI. 147 

the sun setting in the west, with calm and untroubled disk, 
after having run its course, — j^rimeval theology ; the 
other, just rising in the east, the moon of science, reflecting 
theology, and shedding a useful and grateful light on these 
benighted times. 

But such comparisons perhaps may perplex the subject. 
Be it, then, simply told that, three thousand years ago or 
upward, theology in the eastern world stood unconfounded 
with science, and men heard from her, and were satisfied 
with the response ; that '•' in the beginning God created the 
heaven and the earth," — that " God said let there be light 
and there was light," and they heard the number of the 
days of creation also, and were satisfied ; and similarly, in 
our times, it may be affirmed that science stands on her own 
ground, unoccupied by theology, and expounds facts and 
establishes conclusions no longer fearing or being feared; 
and men are now in regard to science what they used to 
be in regard to religion, — free and unembarrassed, serving 
but one master. And this is the more worthy of obser- 
vation when we recollect the history of the intervening 
period, how science has been confounded with religion and 
religion with science, to the detriment and dishonor of both, 
" Tantoque magis hsec vanitas inhibenda venit, et coercenda, 
quia ex divinorum et humanorum malesana admistione, non 
solum educitur philosophia phantastica sed etiam religio 
hseretica. And the more necessary is it to restrain and 
repress this evil, as, from the absurd mixture of human 
and divine things, there is engendered not only a fanciful 
philosophy, but also an heretical religion." 

It is only when each pursues that order and series of 
truths which are peculiar to each that any mutual benefit 
can arise ; but when they encroach on each other's prov- 
inces, the most baleful effects ensue. I must remind you 
of an observation in a former lecture, that boundaries are 
sacred, and that Terminus was a god ; to devolve on science 



148 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

the duties of religion, or on religion the duties of science, 
is to bind together the living and the dead ; the consequence 
would be deplorable. The province of each is extremely 
well marked, and cannot any longer be easily mistaken. 
Science takes a true and just copy of nature according to. 
the relations and order of the facts and phenomena, as they 
really exist ; theology reads this copy with a view to illus- 
trate and enforce the truths drawn from herself; science 
considers her task executed when she has made a true 
record of all the appearances, and ascertained their laws 
and connections, undisturbed in her proceedings b}^ any 
imagined ill results that might flow from the truth she 
brings to view, for she knows that " the whole of truth can 
never be injurious to the whole of virtue;" theology, on 
the other hand, feels that her task begins where that of 
science ends ; science reflects the true image of nature, but, 
since that might lead the mind to idolatry, theology brings 
back upon that image the reflection of Deity ; or, in other 
words, science is the scribe, but theology the interpreter; 
the one speaks to the understanding through the senses, 
the other to the mind through the reason ; both are minis- 
ters of good, but each of its own ; they are not unfriendly 
to each other's interests, and are pernicious only when con- 
founded ; the first is the offspring of simplicity and inno- 
cence and rational intuition, subdued and meek and child- 
like, and wearing a garland of flowers plucked from the 
bowers of Paradise ; the other is harsh-featured, yet cheer- 
ful and undisturbed, young in years, but of an invigorated 
form, and claiming to be the parent of the useful arts, and 
to derive her chief glory and distinction from the improve- 
ments of modern society. In the history and the progress 
of each, you can learn much of the natural history of man ; 
when you view both together, you see at once the infancy 
and the matured manhood of the human race. 

But let me deal no longer in general observations, but 



LECTURE YI. 149 

refer you to cases of illustration. As an instance of theol- 
ogy unmixed with science I refer you to the primitive 
apostles of Christianity, — the twelve ; it is unnecessary to 
say that in this instance religion stands unblemished by 
science. " The earth and the works that are therein," says 
St. Peter, " shall be burned up," " nevertheless we look for 
a new heaven and a new earth, wherein dwelleth righteous- 
ness," — this is an interesting theological truth, announced 
under the form of prophecy, but with what simplicity, what 
divine grandeur ! What then ? did St. Peter know any- 
thing or care anything about the scientific aspects of the 
subject ? He neither knew nor cared, we may well sup- 
jDOse, what series of physical events would mark and embody 
the same truth to after-ages ; he did not descend to these 
inquiries, his mind dwelt in a superior region, and uttered 
the truths which were native to it, although expressed in 
the language of space and time. But it will belong to 
modern geology to show what provision is made in the laws 
of nature for the degradation of the present continents 
and for the rise of newer ones from the bed of the ocean ; 
and also to inquire whether there be not certain laws of 
nature — established by divine Providence, I mean — accord- 
ing to which vitiated and debauched races of the human 
family become extinct, while newer and more vigorous 
races, disciplined in the pure and renovating precepts of 
the Christian faith, take their place, and so it come to pass 
naturally that the meek inherit the earth. Pure science, 
unmixed with theology and undeceived by any former 
speculations, will yet have to cast her safe light over all 
these particular questions; and no doubt, judging from 
analogy, the degradation and obliteration of our modern 
continents will be as slow and imperceptible as their rise 
has been. But theology cannot explain this, far less any 
mixture of theology and science ; for the theologj^ of the 
subject is already declared perfectly by Peter; the science 

13* 



150 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

is yet to come, but it must be unmixed and uncontaminated 
by theology. To know the absurdities that have arisen 
and daily spring from the mixture of science and theology, 
you have merely to read some of the speculations of the 
Fathers in the third and fourth centuries, or to recall to 
mind the discourses which you have heard when the crea- 
tion of the world, the deluge, or the last conflagration has 
been the theme ! 

That there should be antipodes, says St. Augustine, whose 
feet are opposed to ours, is altogether too absurd to be 
believed ; and he proceeds to show how it could not be, and 
among other reasons this is a principal one, that it were 
impossible they could be descended from Adam and Eve, 
for how could they have contrived to cross that mighty 
sea? — but if not the descendants of Adam and Eve they 
could not be men, since this was the sole original family. 
This is a fair specimen of the absurdity and false prejudice 
which result from the mixture of religion and science, and 
from not having it firmly fixed in the mind from the first, 
that the truths of theology belong to one order of ideas, 
the truths of science to another, and that the latter is 
beneath^ the former from above ; for, although angels have 
appeared in the form of men, it is not to be supposed that 
their bodies are material. 

Another specimen of the evil resulting from mixing 
science with religion, to the injury of both, may be seen in 
the argument for the amalgamation of the African and 
European races, on the ground of their being one family, 
both descended from Adam and Eve. Sobria mente quae 
fidei sunt dentur fidei. It belongs to science, and to the 
common instincts and feelings of mankind, to say whether 
there are not races of men so unlike in their temperaments 
as to prohibit, as nefarious and contrary to nature, the 
amalgamation of them. The identity and unity of the 
human family, imaged in Adam and Eve, is a religious, not 



LECTURE yi. 151 

a scientific truth, and any deductions made from it, to have 
any presumption of fairness, must be religious, not scien- 
tific : thus, if from the unity of the human family, so 
acknowledged, it be argued that we owe to every race of 
mankind on the globe the same obligations of justice and 
mercy which we owe to each other, the argument would 
be a good one and no violation of right reasoning, and 
would brand those horrid acts of injustice of which the 
white race have been guilty, both to the black and to the 
red ; but it may be safely afiirmed, that had it not been for 
the debasement of the moral sense, the result of such 
injustice, the natural repugnance to amalgamation among 
these races, particularly between the black and white, would 
have been such that it never could have taken place under 
any circumstances. Pure religion would have disclaim.ed 
it ; nature would have abhorred it. But men having first 
lost all sense of shame, in destroying the natural birthright 
of freedom, in a distinct branch of the human family, no 
wonder this second curse — an unnatural confusion of 
races — has followed on the back of the other, and that we 
should now be about to incur this sad penalty of the trans- 
gression of the natural laws of justice and humanity. The 
Copts, or modern Egyptians, are a race of Negroes and 
Caucasians, and hence their degradation. I note it as a 
remarkable fact in the history of man. 

The unity of the human family, then, is a religious 
rather than a physical truth, — that is to say, we owe jus- 
tice and mercy to all men ; all are our brethren ; but 
between certain races of mankind nature has established 
limits which are not to be broken down but with the 
injury and destruction of both, and this not only science 
and experience, but even the inborn instincts of men them- 
selves, suflSciently and loudly declare. 

A very useful book might be written on limits of natural 
landmarks ; but I must confine myself in this lecture to 



152 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

the limits of science and theology, — ^to show how they 
are distinct, and what evils in practice and absurdities in 
theory the natural history of man points out as having 
arisen from the confusion of them. 

How entirely theology was separate from science, in the 
minds of the first apostles of Christianity, is plain to be 
seen : had they been philosophers, had they been habitu- 
ated to scientific investigations, although otherwise good 
men, they would not have been adequate for the mission 
on which they were employed. The Christian religion 
was not articulated into doctrines, but only spread on 
facts, until it had passed into Greece. The mind of Paul 
was the bridge along which the Christian religion passed 
from Asia into Europe, from a condition of facts into a 
condition of theories ; the span of his gigantic mind took 
in both Asia and Europe, one pier of his mind sunk 
and rested in Asia, the other in Europe. The philosophy 
and science of Greece in him met with the religion and 
impressiveness of Asia; since Christianity itself is the 
most important fact in the history of man, this peculi- 
arity in the mind of the apostle of the Gentiles is also 
deserving of attention. I have said that in the history 
of nations the religious faculties are first disclosed, and 
next the philosophical propensities begin to show them- 
selves; but there is a point of junction, an intervening 
position, an isthmus where both eras meet, that of philoso- 
phy and that of religion ; this grand junction was in the 
mind of Paul ; philosophy and religion in him stood 
balanced, but flowed unequally thence to all succeeding 
times, down to our own, during which religion has been 
sometimes injuring science, and science sometimes cor- 
rupting religion, until but very recently, when there 
are tokens that the provinces of each will be more dis- 
tinctly marked off, and their respective boundaries more 
carefully observed. Geology will contribute largely to- 



LECTURE VI, 153 

wards this restoration of ancient landmarks, for her facts 
are so stubborn that religion will be compelled at last to 
resign an office so foreign to her nature, and derogatory 
to her dignity, as that of a calculator of dates and histori- 
ographer of physical events, and to resume those employ- 
ments so much more congenial with her spirit and be- 
coming her pure character, and indeed of infinitely more 
worth to mankind ; I mean the imparting of spiritual 
instruction and consolation to the human mind. 

But the general views and reasonings advanced in this 
and the preceding lecture, I find it necessary to support on 
a more firm basis of facts than I have yet adduced. You 
will remark, then, the general propositions ; they are these : 
firsts that the mind of primeval nations is opened chiefly, or 
nearly altogether, to theological or religious impressions ; 
secondly^ that the mind of nations more advanced in civi- 
lization is chiefly alive to the scientific or physical aspects 
of nature ; thirdly^ that there is also a period in society 
when philosophy and religion attempt to cement an 
alliance, and that epoch is for the most part distinguished 
both by an imperfect and ill-concocted science, and at the 
same time by a false and heretical theology ; fourthly, I do 
not hesitate to declare it as my own faith on this subject 
(of course you are at liberty to impugn and sift it to the 
bottom), that the provinces of religion and science are 
separate and distinct, and therefore I adopt it as the watch- 
word of my philosophy and theology, " Eender unto Caesar 
the things which are Caesar's, and unto God the things 
which are God's." Theology and science seem to me like 
two currents in the atmosphere, an upper and a lower, 
the one moving eastwardly, the other westwardly; and, 
although they seem sometimes as if they would cross each 
other's path and occasion a tremendous commotion, yet for 
the most part it is found that they do not interfere ; or, if 
they ever do, it is only when the one descends too low, 



154 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

or the other mounts too high, when theology becomes 
scientific, or science, which is not seldom, aspires to be 
theological. They are two distinct orders of truth, not 
otherwise connected than that the facts of the one can be 
made to represent the ideas of the other, according to cer- 
tain fixed laws of analogy, and that they are designed, each 
through the same beneficent Providence, to benefit and 
improve the human race ; the one by administering to the 
soul and its heavenly faculties, and the other to the mind 
and to the body in their combined energies. It is true that 
religion, in touching the soul, afi'ects the whole man, mind 
and body ; language and definition are always inadequate to 
express fully these beautiful and divine arrangements, but 
you see sufiieiently well, I hope, the general distinction : 
but now for the facts to establish these propositions. 

For the first, then, — namely, that theology is the pre- 
dominant and all-pervading influence in rude ages, — I refer 
you to the whole Iliad and the whole Odyssey of Homer. 
Every idea and tone and impression in these noble works 
is theological. E"othing is there allowed to happen accord- 
ing to any natural law (as we term it) : all is the doing or 
the suggestion of some^ divinity, in heaven, earth, or sea, in 
the battle and in the camp, in the solitary musings of 
Ulysses, with Minerva at his side, or in his resolute deeds 
of revenge against his enemies, and his conflicts with 
adverse fortune in every form. It is unnecessary to quote 
a single line in proof, when the whole poem breathes nothing 
else. But in perusing this noble poem, the most delightful 
reflection, after all, is this, that the whole is true (a reflec- 
tion, perhaps, that seldom occurs to most readers) : the whole 
of the Odyssey is true, but only theologically so, and in a 
peculiar sense; and, although all the occurrences there 
related might be shown, in this prosing age, to have taken 
place according to what are called natural laws, that would 
not contradict or annul the impressions of Homer ; his lofty 



LECTURE VI. 155 

and daring mind soared triumphantly in that upper current 
of the atmosphere, and might see the clouds and mists of 
natural causes rolling in a contrary direction beneath his 
feet, — he might see them, but he did not regard them ; for 
neither his age nor his mind, nor his lively and inspired 
countrymen, had yet any appreciation of the hues of light 
and beauty that beam on us from these floating mists of 
natural sciences and natural reasons, which to them passed 
unregarded as things much too puerile and earth-born to 
attract a moment's attention. Neptune, the god of the sea, 
shook the earth with his trident, and terror and alarm seized 
the souls of mortal men when they felt the presence of 
divine power ; and the description of the effects filled their 
imaginations with the most sublime sentiments ; in such a 
state of mind, how could they value our inquiries into the 
causes of subterranean heat, the laws of the expansion of 
fluids and gases, and the whole series of physical results 
ascertained or conjectured in the production of such phe- 
nomena ? But when they felt that these effects took place 
from the exertions of divine power, and seemed almost to 
see the God amid these awful convulsions of nature, they 
had an appreciation of a certain order of truth, at all 
events ; and, on the whole, we may say this of it, that their 
theology in regard to the subject was not more imperfect 
than our science now is ; we know as little about the phys- 
ical antecedents of earthquakes as they did in regard to 
their efficient spiritual causes. They clearly saw that these 
originated, in some sense, from the will and permission and 
providence of divine power ; and we are no less certain that 
the generation of gases is at least among the phenomena 
which precede or accompany these appalling occurrences ; 
our current of physical truth is about as well defined as was 
the tenor of their theological speculations; and there is 
indeed no conflict between them, nor mutual interference, 
the aim of each being different, — that of the one to find the 



156 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

divine agent, that of the other to ascertain and describe 
the physical mode of operation. And science certainly is 
more accessible to the senses and the natural understand- 
ing, but theology not less so to the soul and its rational 
faculties. 

The manners which Homer describes are those of a very 
remote age. Take the example of a people nearer to modern 
times, the Persians, when visited by Herodotus, about four 
hundred years before the Christian era. The passage which 
I translate will corroborate all I have said in regard to the 
religious impressions received from the universe in the 
ruder ages of society, impressions which include trnthB of a 
much higher order than any which science unaided can 
unfold to her admirers in the more advanced periods of 
civilization. " I have known the Persians to observe these 
customs : they are not permitted by their laws to have 
erected among them either statues or temples or altars, and 
they brand with folly the people which do such things ; and 
it seems to me the reason is, that they do not, like the 
Greeks, imagine the gods to be possessed of human passions 
and affections ; no, but on the contrary, the laws enjoin it 
upon them to ascend on their loftiest mountains, and there 
to offer sacrifices to Jupiter, and that expanse of the naked 
heaven which they behold they call by the name of Jupiter ; 
but other acts of worship also they perform to the sun, and 
the moon, and the earth, and the water, and to such only, 
in their original ritual ; but other observances also they 
have recently introduced from the surrounding nations." 
(Lib. i. c. 131.) He then describes, as an eye-witness, their 
mode of sacrifice ; it was extremely simple, performed on 
" a pure spot of ground," without fire, libations, cakes, gar- 
lands, or music, and he who offered it wore on his head 
simply a crown of myrtle ; and, observes the father of his- 
tory, when he utters a prayer on the occasion he is not 
allowed to supplicate good for himself in particular, but for 



LECTURE VI. 157 

all the Persians, and the king, he himself being included 
among his countrymen. 

Persia was on the confines of the ancient land of Judea, or 
that territory of the globe whence has emanated the light of 
an infallible revelation ; and it is interesting to find in the 
scattered and brief notices of earlier religion, which you 
meet with in ancient authors, the ideas become more sublime 
and pure and elevated above the region of science and art, 
as they originate from the countries bordering on or near to 
that felicitous and consecrated spot of earth, or approxi- 
mating that era when divine revelations were rife, and true 
as rife. It is certainly a remarkable fact, that religion is 
always the loftier and purer in the proportion that it is not 
commingled with art, but is read as it is written, fresh, on 
those natural emblems which seem its only just and ap- 
propriate expressions. And also this further suggestion 
arises in our minds, when we read such passages as this 
one from Herodotus, that when natural objects begin to be 
contemplated under the speculative and useful light of 
science they cease to represent to the mind, so readily as 
they did before, that pure and original theosophy of which 
they are the divine and instituted types, that replendent 
and glorious undecaying page of nature, on which the 
eyes of ten thousand thousand generations have been 
successively fixed in the respective periods of their earthly 
sojourn to receive wisdom ; and yet the book is still as 
fresh and new as when it was first unfolded to the view of 
mankind. But when scientific inquiries reach to every 
object within the domain of the senses, and beyond it, a 
less enchanting, but perhaps a more useful, view begins to 
take the place of the earlier impressions and sentiments of 
the first inhabitants of the globe. JN'ations which have 
made but little proficiency in science and the arts of civil- 
ization, but enough to make them vain, entertain great 
contempt for the rudeness of primitive nations, and their 

14 



158 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

absurd interpretations of natural occurrences; and cer- 
tainly they were absurd, if viewed in the light of physical 
explanations, but not such when considered as the rude 
expressions of religion, — on the contrary, oftentimes re- 
plete with the most beautiful and impressive truth. 

The Eomans, in the age of Tacitus (a.d. 100) had 
dipped into the penumbra of science ; and you can readily 
account for the contempt in which he held the Jews, and 
which appears in his account of them: and they were 
certainly contemptible as regarded all that was estimable 
in the eyes of the Eomans ; and neither nation was at this 
time capable of estimating those divine and immaculate 
truths which had poured like a stream in earlier ages over 
the minds of their shepherd kings and their humble and 
enraptured prophets. The sealed vision of science was 
unable to discover the smallest twinklings of that super7ial 
light which begins at last to be recognized, — and a better 
age is on its way. But hear what Tacitus says of the 
Jews, more than seventeen centuries ago : " The Egyp- 
tians venerate the images of animals. The Jews worship 
one Deity only, and that, too, with a veneration purely 
mental ; and they hold those to be profane who, out of the 
materials of human w^orkmanship, construct images of 
gods in the likeness of men ; believing the Supreme Intel- 
ligence to be eternal, subject neither to mutation nor decay, 
on which account they will not suffer statues to be erected 
even in their cities, much less in their temples." In this 
manner Tacitus correctly speaks of their w^orship, while at 
the same time he represents the nation itself as exceed- 
ingly depraved, and addicted to the most degrading vices ; 
he appears also to have been very incorrectly informed in 
regard to the origin of the people or their customs. It is 
perhaps little to be wondered at, considering how low the 
character of the Jews at this time was, that their manners 
and rites should have appeared disgusting to a mind of that 



LECTURE VI. 159 

stern and philosophical cast which belonged to Tacitus ; 
but yet it is questionable if, even under the best aspects of 
the national character, he would have found much to 
admire or to attract his attention : and here it is that we 
have to remark a singular fact in the history of the human 
mind, that not unfrequently the most wonderful develop- 
ments of religion in one age or nation, bearing the clear 
impress of revelation, find hardly any favor or regard from 
another age or nation which happens to have received a 
different bent, — to be attracted by science rather than 
religion. It has been said that ghosts and beings of flesh 
and blood do not recognize each other, even when in actual 
contact, and that they may cross each other's path unob- 
served and unobserving; it is even so in regard to science 
and theology ; they are totally unknown to each other, and 
therefore mutually despised, often when in the closest 
neighborhood. The Greeks and Eomans knew not the 
Jews, nor the Jews them ; they heartily despised each 
other, — at least within the period of ascertained history, 
after the Greeks and Eomans had become imbued with 
philoso])hy. The mystical displays of the attributes of the 
infinite revealed One, which had been sources of unalloyed 
delight to the earlier inhabitants of the mountainous 
regions of Palestine, w^ere unmeaning fooleries or incom- 
prehensible jargon to the excited, strong, imperial mind of 
Eome, or the subtle, ingenious, hair-splitting philosophy 
of Greece ; on the contrary, the Asiatics could see nothing 
either attractive or rational in the genius or institutions of 
either of those people. But why need we seek at such a 
distance instances of this antipathy or insensibility of 
mutual merits in theosophy and science? In modern days 
we often find the religionist boasting of his ignorance of 
all scientific acquisitions, and, on the other hand, your 
philosopher treating with utter contempt everj^ kind of 
truth w^hich is not either mathematical or derived from 



160 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

natural facts; and it is difficult to say which in such eases 
shows the greatest degree of folly, the exclusive religionist, 
or the exclusive sciolist; it is certain that both dishonor 
and disparage sadly that beneficial arrangement, and order 
of ends, which has been provided by the Creator for the 
well-being of the human race, through which we are 
endowed at once with a mortal and an immortal life ; and, 
although the last be the more excellent, yet even the first 
is indispensable to the last: science, or the knowledge of 
nature, belongs to the first ; theosophy, or the knowledge 
of God, belongs to the last. 

I have now shown from the example of the earliest 
Greeks in Homer, of the ancient Persians in Herodotus, of 
the ancient inhabitants of Palestine in the instance of our 
pure and sacred Scriptures, that theosophy is the predom- 
inant habit of the mind in the first ages and among the 
ruder nations. I could gather illustrations from numerous 
other quarters, as the ancient Germans, the aboriginal 
Britons, and the children of nature of this continent ; but 
this would be tedious. 

Jn support of the position that in these times in which 
we live science is in the ascendant, it is unnecessary to bring 
evidence. It is universally acknowledged. 

Of the ill consequences both to science and theology 
which have resulted from the attempt to reason from the 
one to the other, w^e have seen numerous instances since the 
Eeformation. The mischief of reasoning from theology to 
science is seen in the attempt that was made in the time of 
Galileo to make the earth stand still, and the sun to move 
round it, because theology said that it was agreeable to the 
wording of her creed that it should be so ; forgetting at the 
same time that it was not a creed of science that had been 
written for theology, but a creed of a different character ; 
and in her creed, touching such matters, theology can aver 
but this, that all those appearances which are beneficial to 



LECTURE YI. 161 

human kind are according to the ordination of God ; and, 
although science may afterwards discover that such appear- 
ances are the natural results of other series of facts than 
were at first apprehended, they are not surely the less in 
accordance with the divine intelligence on that account, or 
the less worthy of our admiration. The theological truth 
is the same still, however the scientific adjustments of the 
fact may be shifted and re-shifted. In whatever direction a 
gift of kindness and solid good may have come to me from 
my best friend, provided it has reached me at last, and I am 
sure it is from Azm, it will signify nothing, in regard to the 
tenor of my affection for him, in how many different ways 
it may have travelled ; and even if his voice may have 
reached me through an echo, it is still his voice. It belongs 
to science to trace out curiously all these winding natural 
channels, and when it has ascertained them, to call them 
laws; but it belongs to theology, and that alone, to make 
known the will and attributes of that hidden personal intel- 
ligence which employs these communications. And science , 
indeed, may clear a wider space over which the light may 
be diffused, but can neither point to its source nor add to its 
brilliancy. The sun shone as brightly over this western 
world before the white man had cleared a single spot for 
his dwelling or his sustenance, as it has ever since done. 

Another instance where theology has reasoned into 
science, to the impediment of science and the obscuration 
of herself, is in reference to the action of a universal deluge 
on our globe. The flood of Noah is to be regarded as a 
theological, rather than a physical fact, and under this view 
as the most absolute and essential truth ; but what then ? 
The theologian has no more business to dictate to the geolo- 
gist what he must believe in regard to the action of water 
on the globe, or how he shall square his speculations on that 
subject, than the geologist himself would be entitled, from 
his science, to tell the theologian what divine and moral 

14* 



162 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

truths, addressed to the consciences of mankind, he ought 
to discover in the Bible ; and that if he have promulgated 
any which ought not to be there, being contrary to certain 
theological principles deduced from geology, he must recall 
them, on pain of being accounted a heretic^ and branded as 
such by all genuine admirers of geology. 

These are instances of reasoning or leaping from theology 
to science as if they were one, on the same chamj)aign of 
philosophy ; still worse is it when the action is reversed, and 
you reason from science to theology. The shipwrecks of 
faith and reason sustained in this unnatural retrograde 
movement of the human mind are lamentable even to think 
on, and more rife since the ^Reformation than ever before ; 
it is a painful chapter of the history of man, and I would 
fain omit it, but nevertheless you cannot but see how men — 
carrying the facts they have discovered in natural history 
to the interpretation of the sacred Scriptures, and not find- 
ing the facts there (as they view them) to quadrate with 
those they bring — forthwith dismiss as fabulous what they 
conceive inconsistent, not knowing or understanding that 
natural facts are not there the things specially revealed, 
but are merely taken as they seemed to be, but that the 
divine impressions thereon left, and legible to every careful 
mind, are the things that are truly and essentially revealed. 
But this is a subject I dare not enter on, lest it should lead 
me astray, for I am not a theologian here, but an historian, 
remarking the different phases of the human mind in ages 
far remote and dissimilar. 

If, then, you would see two opposite epochs, and men the 
most unlike, bring twelve from the centre of Asia, from the 
sea of Galilee — unlettered fishermen — there found eighteen 
hundred years ago, and twelve from the centre of Massa- 
chusetts, now, and these the most bookish, of a people the 
most devoted to books ; and let the twelve meet the twelve : 
would they understand each other's speech ? I wot not ; but 



LECTURE VT, 163 

there you listen to the simple, the primitive, the good, the 
divine theology of Asia, uttered from tlie lips of fishermen, 
infants almost, telling so sinlessly all they had heard and 
seen, — the natural impressions which had been made on 
their confiding, yielding minds ; it was the hand of God 
upon their soul, and the form was still there fresh and 
entire ; they loved it too much to disturb or interfere with 
it ; you heard, you saw, just as they had heard and seen, — 
it was not obliterated, it was not shifted in the least : but 
how is it met here in the twelve I have supposed ? They, 
too, hear and see, but it is no longer what the first twelve 
either heard or saw, — the whole truth, and nothing but 
truth ; but it is now broken into fragments, and reason 
usurps the place of sacred faith, and science is at her back, 
and questions and doubts, and doubts and questions succeed, 
quick and pert and strong, until at last the twelve apostles 
are ready to abandon the land of the pilgrim, bewailing that 
books and science, once useful but now abused, are usurping 
or have usurped the room of the discreet and modest affec- 
tions, — simple and unblemished belief, — about to consign 
the human soul (if Providence prevent not) to all the 
wretchedness of its own wisdom, the poverty of its own 
imagined wealth. 

But there are manifest tokens of the approach of a better 
age, an age which will unite the perfections of both religion 
and science, ascertain their spheres of action, and know 
their periods of vicissitude ; for Grod made these two great 
lights, and f/ia?^ greater light to rule the day, this lesser light 
to rule the nio-ht. 



164 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 



LECTURE Vn. 

ORIGIN AND PERPETUATION OF NATU- 
RAL RACES OF MANKIND. 



The physical revolutions of the globe are not more re- 
markable and varied than the moral have been; but it is 
but a speck of either we behold. We make ourselves the 
measure of the universe ; and within the contracted span 
of our own life, or our own written history, we endeavor to 
crowd the images of the magnitude and extent of the 
works of God, — truly a narrow and confined mirror in 
which to behold the just relations of things. But as min- 
iature paintings of a vast natural landscape may be exhib- 
ited in reflection from a very small compass of glass or 
other polished substance, so in the actions of human life, 
or the wider extent of national history, we may behold 
represented to us some obscure and well-proportioned ideas 
of the grander operations of Providence ; we may discover 
something of the plan and other characters which belong 
to it ; but still when we make that part the whole, or the 
visible proportions, the actual spaces of time and place, we 
must be involved in grievous and melancholy error. We 
speak of the order by which the ways of Providence are 
characterized, and justly ; but yet what a mass of appar- 
ently disjointed events and materials do we behold, in 
which we can trace no symptom of order! what heaps of 
the ruins of a former world are piled up to form the sub- 



LECTURE YII. 165 

stratum and surface of these continents we inhabit! how 
our imaginations toil to trace the infinitely slow progress 
of all that chain of occurrences and physical events which 
at last have terminated in these appearances so familiar to 
our eyes, and which our fancies, taking human history as 
the gauge of time, might conceive to have been of rapid 
formation what yet must have been the work of a series of 
ages, which our imaginations refuse to count ! A thousand 
years are as one day, and one day as a thousand years, in 
the masonry and stupendous building of illustrious nature ; 
no wonder a confusion meets us in appearance, when the 
work is so much beyond the grasp of our ordinary con- 
ceptions ; and yet pej'haps — 7io doubt ^ rather Ave may say — 
every storm that devastates a country, every flood or swell- 
ing of waters that sweeps our frail works and the ruins of 
embanked rivers with all their load of vegetation and 
fruitful soil to the ocean, is but some slight vestige of that 
great design prosecuted perhaps for millions of years, by 
which it is intended that a new earth shall arise out of the 
wrecks and spoils of this fair continent which we now 
inhabit. 

But with a new earth must arise a new heaven; and it 
would be easy to demonstrate, or rather you can see it 
at a glance, that with the change of the present position 
or surface of the land on the globe, the entire climate 
or atmospherical condition of the whole earth would be 
remodified and changed. And in fact we live every in- 
stant, if we knew it, in the midst of awful revolutions, and 
every act of apparent destruction or disorder in our view 
is, on a more extended range of contemplation, taking in 
an immeasurable lapse of ages, the most perfect order, and 
wisdom, and perfection. In like manner, every symptom 
of apparent disorder in the animated kingdom also, not less 
than on the physical surface of the globe, would vanish, 
could we but take in a wider space of time into our calcu- 



166 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

lation : but in regard even to the probable destinies of 
nations and tribes of men, we are in like manner thrown 
into doubt or sad anticipation, from not reflecting that, as 
respects the history of our race, hardly even the first hour 
of morn has yet passed over our heads ; and yet we quarrel 
with the disposition of human destinies, because we still 
see numerous nations or even whole races of mankind sunk 
in what we esteem hopeless ignorance and barbarity, and 
but one race alone, the white race, apparently advanced 
on the career of early civilization. We forthwith dream 
of partiality, and, judging of the future by the past, we 
lament that law of stern necessity which in our imagina- 
tions chains several races in the constant and unvarying 
monotony of ignorance and savage simplicity. But did 
we only cast our eye over the globe, mark how different 
and distinct is the genius that distinguishes each settled 
people, and read the differing hues of all their counte- 
nances, and the peculiar casts of all their features, the 
unequivocal declarations of distinct mental and intellectual 
and affectuous temperaments, we would see reason to 
hesitate as to the admission of favoritism or partiality 
because all were not advancing abreast in their career of 
moral or intellectual progress. There is undoubtedly a 
time and a period of succession marked out for each natu- 
ral race of men on the globe ; the torch of improvement 
and advancing illumination is unquestionably destined to 
pass from hand to hand ; hut toe see not yet the order, and 
conjecture alone and probability can take the auspices in 
such enterprises and expeditions of inquiry as these. 

But neither are those investigations alone useful wherein 
absolute certainty may be attained ; but in pursuing the 
natural history of man I have thought it might be some- 
times instructive to turn our steps on the regions of dark- 
ness, as well as on the borders of light, since it is no less 
profitable to understand of how many things — and those 



LECTURE VII. 167 

most wonderful, too — we are ignorant than it is to ascer- 
tain how much we know. For wisdom does not lie so 
much in knowledge as in a sense of our deficiency ; and he 
who has never raised his eyes over the extent of an inter- 
minable ocean, bounded only by an unlimited sky, might 
imagine the pool or artificial pond at his door the biggest 
extent of water on the globe. And I open an interminable 
subject when I bring under your view the various natural 
races or families of men, — a subject on which I must confess 
I am myself lost ; for, notwithstanding all I have read or 
heard or seen in regard to it, I can hardly determine for 
myself, far less make it clear to you, where this begins or 
that other ends. It seems, however, a fact that cannot be 
denied, that there are original races of men, the lines 
between which are distinctly drawn by nature herself; and 
I have only to mention to you the Indian, the African, the 
European, to call up the indelible impressions of distinct 
natural forms which are engraved on your own memories. 
Were I to attempt distinctly to delineate these in words I 
should but confuse the picture in your minds and the images 
in my own : it is perhaps the best natural proof that can be 
given, that there are originally distinct races, that we 
cannot artificially or to our own satisfaction precisely trace 
out the lines that separate them. JN'ature's works are too 
fine and delicately touched to be correctly given by art ; 
all that we can do is to note a few particulars ; but where 
distinctions are accidental, or have arisen in art or social 
institutions, such definitions or descriptions can more 
readily be made. 

But the most wonderful circumstance that here attracts 
our attention is the different and distinct portions of the 
globe w^hich have been assigned to these natural races ; we 
can only point to the fact, we cannot explain it. To say that 
all mankind originally perfectly resembled each other, and 
that the several natural varieties which now exist have 



168 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

arisen out of local circumstances, — the action of external 
causes, — is to adopt a gratuitous explanation which cannot 
be shown to have any foundation in fact. On the other 
hand, to say that the different races have sj)rung out of 
separate original pairs of human beings, that were created 
purposely to be the distinct progenitors of these several 
races, is equally absurd and unsupported : for, in the first 
place, although we see it to be a law that children take 
on a general likeness of their parents, yet at the same time 
that likeness is never so perfect as not to admit of consider- 
able deviation from the parental model ; and we are totally 
unable to determine how far that deviation may extend, 
or what incongruities may in the progress of generations 
spring up, and under what kind of influences. 

It would be endless to recount the numerous theories 
which have been broached upon this subject, and, since one 
theory is about as good as another, where none is founded 
on firm facts, a new theory might also be propounded here, 
or rather a new view of the facts. And it might be easy 
then to imagine (which we also believe to be the fact) that 
the whole human family is actually sprung from a single 
pair, but that this single pair possessed within them the 
innate tendency to give rise, in the progress of generations, to 
several distinct origins of races, in the children which were 
born of them, which, afterwards separating, not under the 
auspices of chance, but the better influences of that benign 
power under whose sway chance has no allotment, were led, 
each to distinct quarters of the earth, there to lay the foun- 
dations of nations, which, at first apparently unequal in 
their fortunes, are yet designed to discover equally grand, 
although different energies of good, reflected on them from 
the attributes of the Creator. How unlike, often, are the 
children of one pair ! And slumbering faculties that once 
were awake in early progenitors will be latent in several 
generations, and again, as it were, suddenly and unex- 



LECTURE VII. 169 

pectedly burst forth in some remote descendant ; and the 
very mind and form perhaps will reappear in the family 
after five or six generations : this fact is ascertained where 
portraits of families have been preserved. Where in the 
mean time were the latent genius, the latent form ? Do we 
know anything of the laws according to which all this takes 
place ? And whence, then, the unreserved, the bold assertion 
of Yoltaire and others, that the different races of mankind 
could not have sprung from a single pair? What do we 
know, what could he know, of that single pair ? What was 
that single pair ? Has science told us ? can it tell us ? We 
know nothing of it but from theology, and the truths of 
theology are not to be degraded to the level of science. 
The Adam and Eve of our sacred Scriptures are characters 
too sacred, representing truths too momentous, to be made 
the playthings of a philosophical discussion ; they were not 
intended evidently, as there spoken of, to be regarded merely 
as personages of history. 

When, therefore, I speak of a first pair, I shall imagine a 
first pair ; and what, I would ask, can we know of those 
endowments, physical and mental, with which they were 
invested ? Is it to be held an impossible supposition that 
the Creator may have so moulded them as to have contained 
within them the types of all the families of the earth. If 
the type of the form and genius of a distinguished indi- 
vidual of a family can be latent in several generations and 
again reappear with its original brilliancy, as it did in the 
first that wore it, could we wonder that the Creator may 
have conferred upon the mind and form of the first pair the 
singular endowment of being able to be the cause and the 
natural stock whence should spring several distinct and ever 
afterwards separated races, which were to take their several 
stations on this beauteous globe, their adorned dwelling- 
place, which through a long series of protracted epochs had 
been preparing and was at length prepared to be for them 

15 



170 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

an appropriate habitation ? But the places assigned them, 
under the unseen guidance of this divine voice and hand, 
were exactly such as were most suitable to that peculiar 
genius and temperament which was infixed in their forms. 
But man, of all living beings, is the most versatile and the 
least fixed in his ways and his genius ; he is not made per- 
fect, but intended to be perfected by the influence of the 
arts and education which he is himself to evolve. And 
hence in part, also, may arise the versatility even of his 
outward form, the natural image of his disposition. Man is 
not perfect, but is to be made such. The animals are per- 
fect, their forms are more fixed ; man's form varies and 
may continue to vary, it is more soft and malleable. As 
the mind and soul receive new impressions of religion, of 
liberty, and real improvement, may not the body also 
assume and transmit to posterity greater beauty and per- 
fection of form ? 

This may account, although not for those grand and 
graphic distinctions of races, as between the Africans and 
Europeans, yet for those minor differences which appear 
among Europeans and Africans themselves. Do we not 
perceive before our eyes the confined and as it were crushed 
forms of the lower Germans, as compared with the native 
Americans, not in adults only, but even in children. 
Whence is this? is there not something in the native air of 
true freedom to alter and expand even the form ? Whence 
is it, then, that the American child, after two or three 
generations from Germany, raises his head higher on his 
shoulders, and that the nose, lips, eyes, ears — in short, all 
the features — appear more distinctly to take their places, 
and keep more out of each other's way than they do in the 
German physiognomy, where all seem huddled together in 
confusion and indistinctness, — correctly representing that 
very mist and disorder which still broods over his faculties, 
ere the genius of American liberty has said to his benighted 



LECTURE VII. 171 

soul, " Let there be light" ? That this is not all fancy, I am 
certain ; I do not ascribe, however, these transformations 
to climate or circumstance, but to that spirit of mental 
light and intelligence which now meets him, — in short, to 
the political and moral atmosphere, rather than the phys- 
ical, although no doubt there is a certain harmony between 
the two. For we cannot believe it to have been a matter 
of pure accident that this land in particular in which we 
live has been set apart and devoted to freedom ; it was not 
the pilotage, it w^as not the loadstar of chance, but the 
attraction of a far different and more benign power, that 
directed Columbus and the Spanish mariners to the south, 
and Sebastian Cabot with the English and other nations to 
the north of this new continent. In the conformation and 
establishment of nations of peculiar genius in this hemi- 
sphere, we see beautiful and interesting examples of those 
natural and providential processes according to which con- 
sociations of mankind take place, to which instance I shall 
have occasion often to refer. 

Instead, therefore, of considering the physical condition 
of a country as determining its moral, it is perhaps better to 
regard the moral, to a certain extent, as moulding and 
modifying the physical state of man, — that is to say, to 
regard that peculiar American type of body towards which 
we can perceive all foreigners in the lapse of generations 
tending as growing more from the political and moral and 
free state of the nation than from its climate or other out- 
ward circumstances, or (and this view may be considered 
preferable) to regard it as providential, and the appoint- 
ment of nature, that the physical should correspond with 
the moral, and the moral with the physical ; and that those 
habits, formed in freedom and fixed in the happy choice of 
the individual, should be transmitted to the offspring, and 
form for themselves therein a more beautiful and graceful 
corporeal residence. Or, since the whole is conjecture, 



172 NATURAL HISTORY OF SIAN. 

although the facts are indisputable, let us even take this 
additional view of the subject : as it is a known fact that the 
mind and shape of ancestors constantly reappear at intervals 
in the line of their descendants, being that inalienable stamp 
of nature which never can be abolished ; so, that genius and 
form which promises to be the mental and corporeal type of 
the American, for a series of ages, may have been slumbering 
latent in the progenitors of those who have crossed the waters, 
and been the genuine cause which led them hither, and the 
reason why at last this noble countenance and free bearing 
mark them all, or would mark them all did not avarice and 
other seltish passions sometimes defeat the ends of nature 
and of those social institutions which imitate her example 
and second her benevolence. But we need not stop here, 
for, having now happily struck on a right vein of reasoning 
and analogies, we may even imagine that a still nobler form 
and genius is latent in the best and noblest that has ever 
yet appeared ; and that it is among the possibilities of human 
improvement that, touched by a vital ray from heaven, — 
even the warm contact of true and heaven-born freedom, 
which is still better than the American^ — the human mind 
and body may yet expand into a fulness of beauty and per- 
fection such as none since the state of Eden has beheld, 
although, in virtue of that image and likeness originally 
imprinted, the possibility, I may say the capacity, of reach- 
ing this perfection has never been lost, but retained from 
Adam downward. Still those changes and transformations 
of soul and body cannot justly be regarded as calculated to 
break down those great and original barriers which separate 
the natural races of mankind, and which become only the 
more visible and distinct in the progress of improvement. 

The transformations, moral and physical, of which I 
speak, are such as may be expected to arise in the same 
race according to their genius and temperament, and as 
indications of advancement or retrogression in respect to 



LECTURE VII. 173 

the general ends of their creation. But a difficulty will 
occur here in regard to these changes ; they may be sup- 
posed to affect merely the individual himself, but to be 
incapable of being transmitted to his posterity. It might 
be perhaps sufficient to meet that objection merely to state 
the well-known fact, that dispositions and propensities, and 
consequently all habits that have acquired the force of 
these, are actually transmitted to descendants. But in con- 
firmation of this I shall refer to facts perhaps less known, — 
namely, that, even in the case of dogs, habits that have 
been once engrained in their instincts become parts of their 
nature and go to their offspring ; of course not habits arti- 
ficial merely, put on by trick and education, but such, I 
mean, as fall in with their instincts, and are embraced and 
held firmly by these instincts.* 

^ A race of dogs employed for hunting deer in the platform of Santa 
Fe, in Mexico, affords a beautiful illustration of a new hereditary- 
instinct. The mode of attack, observes M. Kaulin, which they 
employ, consists in seizing the animal by the belly and overturning 
it by a sudden effort, taking advantage of the moment when the body 
of the deer rests only upon the fore-legs. The weight of the animal 
thus thrown over is six times that of its antagonist. The dog of pure 
breed inherits a disposition to this kind of chase, and never attacks a 
deer before, while running. Even should the deer, not perceiving 
him, come directly upon him, the dog steps aside and makes his assault 
upon the flank ; whereas other hunting dogs, though of superior 
strength and sagacity, which are brought from Europe, are destitute 
of this instinct. Eor want of similar precautions, they are often killed 
by the deer on the spot, the vertebrae of their neck being dislocated by 
the violence of the shock. 

A new instinct has also become hereditary in a mongrel race of dogs 
employed by the inhabitants of the banks of Magdalena, almost ex- 
clusively in hunting the white-lipped pecari. The address of these 
dogs consists in restraining their ardor, and attaching themselves to no 
animal in particular, but keeping the whole herd in check. Now, 
among these dogs some are found which, the very first time they are 
taken to the woods, are acquainted with this mode of attack ; whereas 

15* 



174 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

Such is the evidence of the laws of nature with regard 
to the transmission of habits, grounded on or interwoven 
wath the instincts of the creature. Such habits in animals 
bear some faint analogy with the insertion of grafts in 
trees. You are aware that not every tree can support a 
graft of every other, but, to insure the success of the ex- 
periment, it is necessary that the trees belong to what is 
called the same natural family. It is so in this case ; you 
could not engraft ujoon the dog a habit which should be 
hereditary, which was not naturally allied with his instinct : 
it must be implanted in a ground of nature or it does not 
become vital. 

But is there in man that which has or may have the force 
of instinct ? Everything might have that would tend to 
arise and exalt his being, his human soul, — the love of truth, 
for example, the sense of justice, the purity of the nobler 
passions ; when such sentiments as these are engrafted in 
the religion of the individual, and acquire a divine charac- 
ter and vigor, they may be transmitted to his posterity, and 

a dog of another breed starts forward at once, is surrounded by the 
pecari, and, whatever may be his strength, is destroyed in a moment. 
The fixed and deliberate stand of the pointer has with propriety been 
regarded as a mere modification of a habit which may have been 
useful to a wild race accustomed to wind game, and steal upon it by 
surprise, first pausing for an instant, in order to spring with unerring 
aim. The faculty of the retriever, however, may justly be regarded 
as more inexplicable and less easily referable to the instinctive passions 
of the species. M. Majendie, says a French writer in a recently pub- 
lished memoir, having learnt that there was a race of dogs in England 
which stopped and brought back game of their own accord, procured 
a pair, and, having obtained a whelp from them, kept it constantly 
under his eyes, until he had an opportunity of assuring himself that, 
without having received any instruction, and on the ver}^ first day 
that it was carried to the chase, it brought back game with as much 
steadiness as dogs which had been schooled into the same manoeuvre 
by means of the whip and collar. — Lyell, vol. i. p. 509. Am, Ed. 



LECTURE VII. 175 

would tend not only to improve the forms of the soul, but, 
after several generations, to add to the natural dignity and 
gracefulness of the body. To such conclusions, so conso- 
nant with Christianity and so encouraging to virtue, do 
our researches into the natural history of man and the laws 
of his being certainly conduct our reason. 

Let the occurrence of these green and lively spots, which 
meet us providentially, encourage us to proceed ; part of 
the way may be a desert or beaten track, but new and beau- 
tiful prospects will sometimes open unexpectedly before 
us. 

But, waiving all further inquiry, in the mean time, into 
the effects of civilization and the arts on the condition of 
man, a subject which will again come up in some subsequent 
lecture, let us first dispose of those other questions which 
refer to the origin of the human race itself, and also of those 
natural subordinate races of which it is composed. 

In regard to the origin of the human race itself, it seems 
hardly necessary to say that we derive no information from 
either science or experience. We are indebted to theology 
altogether for any knowledge we possess on the subject; 
but this, being of a spiritual rather than physical import, 
admits not of any scientific exposition. In regard to the 
physical circumstances which distinguished the formation 
or origin of the first man or first pair, we are consequently 
left altogether in the dark. And so entirely destitute are 
we of any facts which could lead us to a knowledge of such 
circumstances, and so remote, probably, was the nature of 
that event from all others which have since happened or 
of which we have any knowledge, that, had even a faithful 
description of it been transmitted to us, we should most 
likely have been utterly unable to comprehend it. For our 
understanding of a subject depends on certain other familiar 
and analogous facts with which we were before acquainted ; 
but the creation of the first man, as a natural event, we are 



176 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

compelled to think, was one of its own kind, to which nothing 
has since happened either similar or analogous, — so entirely 
beyond the reach of our ordinary experience that even 
imagination itself cannot grapple with it. 

To see this more clearly let us suppose — the thing indeed 
is impossible — but let us suppose certain persons to have 
been shut out from all knowledge of the manner in which 
human beings are brought into existence, and of the several 
stages of infancy, childhood, and adolescence, which pre- 
cede maturity ; and let them be told then, for the first time, 
that there was a period when they began to exist, — when 
God introduced them into life, conferring upon them those 
powers and functions of body and mind which they at 
present exercise, — what ideas would they be able to form 
of all this ? Without a knowledge of the facts, would they 
be able to arrive at a single just conclusion in regard to any 
one particular of the whole transaction ? Would not the 
whole appear to them an enigma, an inexplicable mystery? 
Or would they be able to truly represent to their imagina- 
tions the laws of that divine economy according to which 
the human being is at first carried in the womb, afterwards 
born, suckled by the mother for a season, and at length, by 
slow degrees, and after a period of years, arrives at matu- 
rit}^ ? We perceive at once that neither reason nor imagi- 
nation could here avail them anything ; so little can any 
one tell beforehand, antecedent to experience, of the works 
of the Creator, or that order which may distinguish them. 
I^ay, so profoundlj^ ignorant are we, especially on this sub- 
ject of our own origin, that it would be impossible for us to 
know, without having been informed by others, and seen 
the same kind of facts constantly occurring, that we had 
ever begun to exist at all ; we might have supposed that we 
had so lived on from eternity. True, our memories extend 
back but a short space, but we forget many things, and we 
might also have forgotten all but the last thirty or forty 



LECTURE VII. 177 

years of our existence. I know that I am making a sup- 
position which it is difficult to lay hold of, for we have from 
our earliest recollection been so familiar with the sight of 
human beings like ourselves, first in the state of helpless 
infancy, next in a more advanced childhood, and at last 
in the maturity of life, that we seem to ourselves to have 
an innate perception of the facts in relation to man's birth 
and gradual advance to manhood, which yet are known to 
us only from observation and experience, and would other- 
wise have lain entirely beyond the scope of our reason and 
intelligence. 

And the facts, whatever they were, of the origin and 
formation of the first man or first pair stand to us precisely 
in this relation : they are, as respects any knowledge we 
have of them, as if they had never been. Indeed, we have 
no natural surmise or apprehension even in regard to them. 
It is here no longer a supposition, but a fact, that we are shut 
out from all the means of knowledge. Many nations, par- 
ticularly the Greeks and Romans, seem to have lived under 
an obscure belief that men had always existed, that there 
was no time when they began to be. We, however, are 
fortunately delivered from that illusion, and we are taught, 
but not by the wisdom of science, that there was a time 
when God first made man upon the earth. But here our 
information ends, unless it may be considered as a certain 
negative confirmation of this truth, that geology has 
hitherto discovered no bones of man in the primitive strata 
of the globe. What grounds of reliance are to be sought 
for in this much-vaunted fact I know not ; it seems to be 
advanced often as a kind of triumphant demonstration of 
the truth of the first chapter of Genesis, from which it 
would appear that man was the last created. I must say 
that my own faith in the divine record requires no such 
aids, and, if it should therefore happen that human bones 
are discovered in the primitive strata, I shall be in no 



178 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

degree alarmed, for I do not think that theology is to be 
permanently affected one way or other by any such dis- 
coveries. The great point to be firmly fixed in the mind is, 
that man, not less than the other living or organic sub- 
stances of creation, has had a beginning, and that this 
beginning is from God, — who has also, at the same time, 
conferred upon them all the powers of indefinite multipli- 
cation, according to their kinds. And it is this second 
department of subordinate creation^ so to speak, which now 
falls under our observation and experience. 

The continual recapitulation of the acts of creation, so to 
name it, in the generation and production of constantly 
new beings, similar to or the same as those which were 
originally produced, although now a familiar aspect to us, 
is, when duly considered, not less wonderful in itself, nor 
less demonstrative of the presence and power of the Creator, 
than the first origination of the entire creation itself was. 
It is not less worthy of admiration, it is not less an evidence 
of God, than the other, but still in itself it may be very 
different : the character and style of creation, so to speak, 
may be entirely distinct when God first creates or originates 
species, and when he only deduces individuals from these by 
the present established modes of generation and production. 
I wish that this distinction may be clearly and duly appre- 
hended, for I think I have perceived some confusion of ideas 
in the minds of most persons on the subject. Let us, then, 
distinctly understand and reflect upon it, under what kind 
of order of nature or order of creation we live, — what is 
the EPOCH. There is, then, an order of creation which may 
be termed primitive, and is that of species ; and also an 
order of creation, or an order of nature, which is secondary 
and consequential on the other, and which is the creation, 
generation, or production of individuals. And it is under 
the reign of this last, or secondary creation, that we live, 
and during which even philosophy itself has been born, 



LECTURE VII, 179 

and in which, and from which, we derive all our ideas of 
nature; the materials out of which our sentiments and 
opinions, our theories, nay, even our very imaginations, are 
constructed. 

Eespecting the primitive creation, when species — not 
merely individuals from them, but individuals ah origine — 
rose, we can consequently form no natural, therefore no 
just, conceptions. For this very epithet natural itself is 
taken, not from that nature which then sprung up, and 
was original, but from this nature which has sprung out of 
that, and which is indeed its copy as to features, but not 
as to the mode of production. In one word, there are now 
established laws or rules of nature (so we name those 
immutable characters whereby God is known) in agree- 
ment with which the individuals of each species of animals 
spring from the parent stock, in consequence of which the 
species is immortal ; and the like is true of plants ; it is 
thus, and thus, in that order of nature which now reigns, 
this quiet, unobtrusive secondary creation, as we prefer to 
call it. But in the primitive creation, — that first epoch, 
when the individuals, the solitary representatives of 
species, first appeared, — are we to imagine that those very 
same laws or rules of production or generation also gov- 
erned and characterized that nobler, because more uni- 
versal, creation ? Is it not, on the contrary, more reason- 
able to suppose that such a character of creation was 
distinguished and adorned by an order and laws altogether 
original and peculiar, of which we have at present no 
natural ideas whatever, but only those spiritual impressions 
conveyed by revelation, — " that six days' work, — a world ?" 
According to this view of the subject, provided I have 
made it sufiiciently intelligible, it is not only absurd in 
itself, but also at variance with all rules of legitimate 
philosophy, to suppose, as some have done, that one species 
of animals has sprung from another, the more perfect from 



180 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

the less perfect, and so on continually, much in the same 
way as individuals are now engendered ; for this entire 
fancy is drawn altogether from the analogy of the rules of 
creation which now prevail, and cannot, therefore, be justly 
applied to explain the circumstances of a creation which 
from its very nature was distinct and original. This is 
very much such a fancy as might be conceived to arise in 
the minds of those persons whom I supposed to have been 
excluded from all knowledge of their own origin, as indi- 
viduals, and that of others. Among other speculations on 
the subject, might it not very naturally occur to them — on 
finding themselves refreshed and invigorated by eating and 
drinking — to suppose that their bodies were formed in this 
way originally, through the act of the Deity; and that 
eating and drinking^ in some extraordinary manner, were 
the main features which characterized their entrance on. 
existence? 

But surely it is not necessary to multiply words or 
comparisons further to convince us of this truth, that 
respecting the origin of plants, and animals, and men, we 
can know no more than has been revealed to us; and that 
the researches of science reach only to that order of nature, 
or that system of creation, which has existed since the 
appearance of man on the globe. That the primitive 
system was essentially distinct in its laws and phenomena, 
we are led to conceive, not only from the express tenor of 
the sacred language, but also from the manifest analogies 
of God's works. The laws of the generation and produc- 
tion of individuals according to species are now unerring ; 
and it is contrary to the analogies of nature to suppose 
that they were ever different ; in no one instance has it 
been found that a new species of animals had arisen from 
one that has before existed; and distinct species do not 
mix, so as to produce an offspring that is itself productive 
to the third or fourth generation ; ordinary generation and 



LECTURE VII. 181 

production is the constant rejDroduction and perpetuation 
of the individual of the race ; it is, so to speak, but the 
multiplication of the copy, — that 07ie plant or animal which 
existed originally, and the same^ — the present system of 
nature being the means provided by which as many coun- 
tries as possible, and the successive generations of the 
inhabitants, might have an opportunity of seeing it, and to 
say, " this is indeed that very same plant or animal which 
God made, and now we have seen it ourselves and believe P'' 

Indeed, if we regard it properly, it seems like a contra- 
diction to the most profound sentiment of reason that a 
new and distinct natural species should arise out of another, 
as individuals are now procreated ; it would be rendering 
nature itself creative^ which is a delegated instrument 
merely to multiply and exhibit that which is originally 
created. 

Let it, then, be impressed on the mind that original and 
primitive creation is distinct from the secondary and sub- 
ordinate. It is true, as has been said, " that preservation is 
perpetual creation," but it is carried, on through distinct 
laws and phenomena of its own. And it is a reflection not 
unpleasing to the imagination thus distinctly to see it to be 
true, not only on the information of theology, but also on 
the inferences of reason and the laws of philosophy, that 
there has existed on our planet — when or for how long a 
period we know not — but that there has existed an order 
of events entirely different from the present, when the 
genera and species of nature in their first types and repre- 
sentatives rose to adorn and beautify and animate the 
globe. It was a spectacle exhibited once, and then, and had 
we been there to take memoranda of the occurrences, and 
to register their order, the antecedents and the consequents, 
the periods and the seasons, we should have understood 
something of the physical style of original creation; and, 
as there is reason to believe that new earths are constantly 

16 



182 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

coming into existence, in which similar exhibitions of crea- 
tive power are repeated and renewed, we could then be able 
to tell, on the ground of our natural faith in the immu- 
tability of the divine councils and operations, the general 
order and manner according to which all such replenishing, 
enlivening, and adorning of rudimental planets — the des- 
tined dweUing-places of men, the future theatres of their 
transactions — are or have been accomplished. Meanwhile, 
we must be contented to remain ignorant of this field of 
the divine labors, satisfied that for good and wise reasons 
this kind of knowledge is now withheld from us. But is the 
field of view thereby contracted, so as to be too narrow for 
our minds ? Is there not ample scope afforded for the most 
delightful research into all those laws of order whereby 
provision is made for the security and perpetuation of the 
original creation. If not admitted, as it were, to an 
audience on the first enunciation of the divine ideas em- 
bodied in the universe, we are yet fortunate enough to 
attend to the constant recapitulation of them, and if we 
have not heard the divine voice itself, we hear at least that 
echo of it returned by nature, which obeys the call and is 
perpetually renewed. 

So much in regard to the physical origin of the human 
race, and that magnificent " terra incognita" to which it 
belongs, and on which only sufficient light is shed to indi- 
cate its existence and to preclude all hopes of ever approach- 
ing it. In regard to the moral and spiritual condition of 
mankind in their primeval state, a more distinct picture is 
furnished through the means of revelation. A single fam- 
ily of the group, under the names Adam and Eve — man and 
woman— \^ presented to us ; their residence a garden ; and 
a synopsis of their mental condition is exhibited to us in 
other expressive characters, as in a certain mystic tree 
named " the tree of life," another called " the tree of the 
knowledge of good and evil," by the eating of which seems 



LECTURE VII. 183 

to have been indicated the fall of the human race, from the 
lively and clear views of primeval theology, into the dim 
twiliu:ht of modern science, in which throuo-h evil we learn 
good. But respecting all these events, whatever may have 
been their natural bearings and relations, we have received 
no sure scientific information : of the duration or the coun- 
try — the theatre of this golden age of the human family — 
we have gained no intelligence ; whether it were a country 
over which now roll the waves of the broad Atlantic, or, 
what is more generally believed, the vast champaign of 
the inland regions of temperate Asia, is a problem still to 
be solved. But, in whatever light we may view such sub- 
jects, one thing is manifest, that the present or what some 
would call the post-diluvian race of mankind is compara- 
tively of very recent origin, and that it has hardly put 
forth the first tender leaves of its terrestrial insemination. 
But, as it now exists, it is evidently marked off into certain 
distinct natural families, only one of which, within the last 
few thousand years of its existence, has begun to develop 
what may be conceived to be the proper germ of human- 
ity: I allude here, you will perceive, to the Caucasian 
branch of the human family, which, whatever may be its 
comparative distinction hereafter, when the other races 
shall have advanced on the career of a just civilization, is 
at present, as respects intellectual expansion — this unfolding 
of leaves — evidently in advance of all the others. But it is 
the prerogative of intellect to be precocious ; the other races 
after a few thousand years may far excel them in moral 
development, in that nobler civilization which arises from 
the cultivation of innocence, simplicity, and virtue, — a civ- 
ihzation the most enduring, because the only right kind, 
but the latest in arriving at perfection, — " their leaf also 
shall not wither, and whatsoever they do shall prosper." 

Of the existence of these distinct natural families of the 
human species, no one who is capable of the least reflection 



184 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

can for a moment doubt. The origin of these is another 
question : from what causes they have existed, or why they 
come to inhabit those separate regions of the globe which 
have been assigned to them, is among those numerous prob- 
lems which science cannot solve ; but is compelled to indi- 
cate the fact, without presuming to ascertain the reason. 
For, as we are ignorant of the nature of those agencies or 
influences which build up the human body, allotting to each 
organ its proper place and form and function, here mark- 
ing out a region for the heart, and forthwith designing and 
establishing one, and there a separate department for the 
brain, and constructing that also, and in hke manner so 
disposing and perfecting all other parts and functions and 
members, according to their use, design, and tendency, 
binding the whole into a unity^ the most perfect and admi- 
rable, the body of man, — as we are profoundly ignorant 
how all this is effected, and yet the fact is undeniable, so 
are we also in the dark in respect to those causes and influ- 
ences which have produced different and distinct families of 
the human race, and have brought each within its allotted 
climate and place on the globe. That it has been all an 
affair of accident we are not at liberty to suppose, for this 
would be to contradict at once both common sense and phi- 
losophy ; and neither is it more rational to suppose that, the 
different members of the human family having been sepa- 
rated at an early period, the present discriminations which 
exist among them have arisen from climate or other local 
causes. This is not one whit more philosophical than it 
would be to say that, because the arms and hands have 
occupied the upper extremities of the body, therefore they 
are arms and hands, and not legs or feet, and that it is the 
mere fact of their collocation which renders the feet feet, 
and hands hands. No doubt the feet are best adapted to 
that position in the body which they occupy, and so the 
bands to theirs, and in like manner every member and 



y 



LECTURE VII. 185 

organ in the body is best fitted to its own place ; but still 
it is contrary to reason to say that it is the place or collo- 
cation that has determined either the form or use of the 
part ; there is the evidence of wise design in all such rela- 
tions of the whole to the parts and the parts to the whole, 
of the organ to the place and the place to the organ, and 
it becomes a theme of just admiration that such perfect 
harmony should everywhere prevail; but when we pro- 
ceed farther, and would specify that such and such rela- 
tions having been once established, such and such others 
followed of necessity, and were added, we are wading be- 
yond our depth, and into a sea of interminable and audacious 
speculation. 

The same observations will bear to be applied to the 
position and distribution of the different families of man- 
kind. It is certainly a remarkable fact that the Negro 
family of the human species should have been naturally 
confined to the peninsula of Africa, and should never have 
travelled beyond it from voluntary choice. Philosophers 
have found a constitutional adaptation in this case to the 
climate and local circumstances of this their native and 
allotted home, and there can be no question that there is, 
and that when the epoch of their civilization arrives, in the 
lapse of ages, they will display in their native land some 
very peculiar and interesting traits of character, of which 
we, a distinct branch of the human family, can at present 
form no conception. It will be — indeed it must be — a 
civihzation of a peculiar stamp ; perhaps we might venture 
to conjecture, not so much distinguished by art as a certain 
beautiful nature, not so marked or adorned by science as 
exalted and refined by a certain new and lovely theology, 
— a reflection of the light of heaven more perfect and 
endearing than that which the intellects of the Caucasian 
race have ever yet exhibited. There is more of the child, 
of unsophisticated nature, in the Negro race than in the 

16* 



186 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

Euroj)ean, a circumstance, however, whicli must always 
lower them in the estimation of a people whose natural 
distinction is a manly and proud bearing, and an extreme 
proneness to artificial society and social institutions : the 
peculiar civilization which nature designs for each is ob- 
viously different, and they may impede, but never can 
promote, the improvement of each other. It was a sad 
error of the white race, besides the moral guilt which was 
contracted, when they first dragged the African, contrary 
to his genius and inclination, from his native regions: a 
voluntary choice would never have led the Negro into 
exile ; the peninsula of Africa is his home, and the appro- 
priate and destined seat of his future glory and civilization, 
— a civilization which, we need not fear to predict, will be 
as distinct in all its features from that of all other races, 
as his complexion and natural temperament and genius are 
different. But who can doubt that here also humanity, in 
its more advanced and millennial stage, will reflect, under 
a sweet and mellow light, the softer attributes of the divine 
beneficence ? If the Caucasian race is destined, as would 
appear from the precocity of their genius and their natural 
quickness and extreme aptitude to the arts, to reflect the 
lustre of the divine wisdom, or, to sj^eak more properly, 
the divine science, shall we envy the Negro if a later but 
far nobler civilization await him, — to return the splendor 
of the divine attributes of mercy and benevolence in the 
practice and exhibition of all the milder and gentler vir- 
tues? 

It is true, the present rude lineaments of the race might 
seem to give little warrant for the indulgence ©f hopes so 
romantic ; but yet those who will reflect upon the natural 
constitution of the African may see some ground even for 
such anticipations. Can we not read an aptitude for this 
species of civilization I refer to in that singular light- 
heartedness which distinguishes the whole race, in their 



LECTURE VII. 187 

natural want of solicitude about the future, — in them a 
vice at j^resent, but yet the natural basis of a virtue, — and 
especially in that natural talent for music with which they 
are pre-eminently endowed, to say nothing of their will- 
ingness to serve, the most beautiful trait of humanity, 
which we, from our own innate love of dominion, and in 
defiance of the Christian religion, brand with the name of 
servility, and abuse not less to our own dishonor than their 
injury. But even amid these untoward circumstances 
there burst forth occasionally the indications of that 
better destiny to which nature herself will at last conduct 
them, and from which they are at present withheld, not 
less by the mistaken kindness of their friends than the 
injustice of their oppressors : for so jealous is nature of her 
freedom that she repels all interference, even of the most 
benevolent kind, and will suffer only that peculiar good or 
intelligence to be elicited of which she has herself deposited 
the seeds or rudiments in the human bosom. 

Perhaps, however, such expectations may seem chimeri- 
cal, and it may rather be thought that there exist no such 
elements of native character in that race as to justify the 
hope of such a peculiar development of mind as would con- 
stitute a happier species of civilization ; and such undoubt- 
edly will be the opinion of those who consider the Euro- 
pean civilization the standard, and whatever may deviate 
from that a blemish. But let it only be considered how 
much our sentiments are warped, or indeed fixed, by our 
natural bent of mind ; and then perhaps we shall have less 
difiiculty in conceiving how a certain species of the most 
beautiful and yet real refinement might exist with far less 
of intellectual display and science and art than at present 
characterize the civilization of the white races. If there 
are fewer vivid manifestations of intellect in the Negro 
family than in the Caucasian, as I am disposed to believe, 
does that forbid the hope of the return among them of 



188 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

that pure and gentle state of society which attracts the 
peculiar regard of Heaven, and to which Homer seems to 
allude as having existed among them — 

The sire of gods, and all the ethereal train, 
On the warm limits of the farthest main 
Now mix with mortals, nor disdain to grace 
The feasts of Ethiopia's blameless race ; 
Twelve days the powers indulge the genial rite, 
Eeturning with the twelfth revolving light, 

Iliad, Book I. 

But under whatever light we may view the moral dis- 
position and genius and capacity of this race of men, one 
thing is certain, that, as respects both their physical and 
mental condition, they are naturally and originally distinct. 
How this has happened it is impossible to tell ; at all events, 
we can never concur with the opinions of Euffon and others, 
who ascribe all their peculiar characteristics to the mere 
operation of climate and local circumstances; intimating 
by these opinions, that had the same chance which they 
suppose to have introduced them into Africa, and shut them 
up there, brought them into Europe, — to the southern 
countries of Grreece or Italy, or to the northern parts of 
Gaul and Germany, — they would have all the character- 
istics, or similar ones, of those races which in ancient or 
modern times have inhabited there. This seems to me very 
much such an assertion as it would be to say that were our 
legs and arms to change places, our legs would be arms and 
our arms legs, which, at all events, is an absurdity in lan- 
guage, if nothing else. We regard it as the effect of a par- 
ticular Providence, or, to speak in the dialect of science, an 
express law of nature, that each peculiar race of men should 
occupy those limits which have been assigned them, and 
none other : and we may consider it as a part of this same 
natural arrangement that a race of people of that distinc- 



LECTURE VII. 189 

tive genius which belongs to the Caucasian variety^ and 
occupying that portion of the globe which has become 
their native residence, should, for the first ages at least, take 
the lead in civilization, and bear the torch of science and 
moral improvement in advance of the other races, — to shed 
light on the resources of human nature, and be, as it were, 
the pioneers of humanity, fitted in a wonderful degree 
for the accomplishment of bold and original undertakings. 
Eut in succeeding ages gentler duties may be needed, and 
a race of milder temperament may best accomplish them. 

Eut our sentiments on this subject are at present exceed- 
ingly contracted, and destitute of that expansion of views 
which is required by philosophy. For as it has been ob- 
served that the true science of geology has been retarded 
through the influence of popular apprehensions in regard 
to the age of the earth, and also from theories deduced 
from mere local phenomena, so are we prevented from taking 
enlarged views of the varied relations of the different natural 
races of mankind, from considering the past as the criterion 
of the future, and the historical relations as the natural 
relations, and consequently fixed and immutable, which may 
be very much the contrary; also from imagining that the 
world, which is now only beginning, is fast hastening to its 
termination, while so many nations are still plunged in 
barbarism, and have never been able to approach that per- 
fect civilization which has prevailed among us, and which 
of course we are willing to consider as the model which the 
human race are bound to imitate. In consequence of these 
lurking prejudices, in regard both to the duration of time 
itself and also the right elements of civilization, we are 
unable to bring ourselves unto a position from which fairly 
to estiniate the relations of our civilization to that which 
may hereafter arise among tribes now exceedingly obscure 
and barbarous, but which, coming late, and having none of 
that precocious refinement which distinguishes ours, and 



190 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

veils an excessive ambition and selfishneps, may, as respects 
an innate love of goodness and the majesty and strength 
of the moral discriminations, as far surpass our present 
civilization as we now excel them in all the distinctions 
of a daring and successful intellect. That we even now 
excel them in every species of moral worth is at least 
problematical. 

But here, be it observed, I advance no theory, but only 
make these suggestions, to awaken reflection on the subject, 
and to rivet attention on certain most interesting facts 
which form part of the natural history of man. For what 
can be more interesting to a reflecting mind than this 
grand natural classification of mankind, — the varied groups 
which occupy the different regions of the globe, differing 
not less in their moral and intellectual progress than in their 
physical constitution ? Truly a vast and most magnificent 
school, in which, however, the most forward are not always 
the soundest intellects, nor the most ambitious at last the 
truest men ; one eye alone surveys the whole, and marks 
already the distinct colors of their destiny and all the 
possible relations which can arise among them. We see 
but very partially indeed, and yet two races stand forth in 
prominent relief among the rest, whose mental and physical 
characters seem already well defined and no longer to be 
mistaken. I mean the African and European, or, more 
properly, the Negro and Caucasian ; the one extremely 
provincial, and confined from natural inclination to one 
quarter of the globe, the peninsula of Africa ; the other 
more migratory in its habits, having roamed westward from 
the centre of Asia, and explored and settled the most in- 
hospitable as well as the most inviting countries of Europe ; 
the former hitherto almost stationary as respects progress 
in the arts, and apparently as fixed in mental compass as in 
local residence ; the latter not less remarkable for freedom 
of intellectual research than for the extent of their wander- 



LECTURE VII. 191 

ings, — always inquiring after something new, — in their 
western voyages and emigrations having reached the 
farthest extremities of Europe at an early period, and then 
waiting with seeming impatience until Providence had 
opened to them this new and almost boundless continent, 
which still seems not large enough to satisfy their ambition 
or gratify their curiosity. Such are the well-known traits 
of this race of mankind among whom we rank ; how much 
contrasted with the genius of that ^Ethiopean family who 
have been also not seldom the victims of their tyranny or 
else of their ill-timed compassion ! 'Not one African ever 
crossed the wide waters with his own consent ; and with 
unalloyed satisfaction and delight would he have been con- 
tented to have basked, unmolested and undisturbed, on his 
own sunny plains, until the genius of native civilization, 
appearing on the banks of the Niger or the Congo, had 
roused him from his stupor, and, infusing new sentiments 
and ideas into his mind, opened to him a career of improve- 
ment congenial with his nature, and adapted to his character. 
But the seasons, and occasions of national developments, and 
much more those magnificent expansions of the mental ener- 
gies of races, are things as yet very imperfectly understood ; 
the world is yet too young ; some ten thousand years of 
additional progress may shed light upon the subject. Only 
this much we may venture to affirm, that, in agreement with 
the laws of universal nature, nothing is or can be abso- 
lutely stationary, the human race least of all so, — tending 
constantly to an elevated moral condition or to actual 
extinction. 

But we behold as yet only the introduction to the drama, 
and, our own race being itself a part of the pageant, we are 
not by any means certain that those relations under which 
we view the various movements are such as would appear 
to an eye that took in the whole : and we shall consider that 
we have secured a point if we have only properly impressed 



192 NATURAL HISTORY OP MAN. 

this much, tbroiigli this desultory lecture, — namely, that 
there is much likelihood that we may be mistaken in the 
moral estimate which we form in regard to the grand divi- 
sions of the human famil}", in consequence of not duly 
appreciating the native bent of each, and in reckoning the 
precocity of intellect, and that species of civilization which 
is attached to it, as the summum honum of the social human 
condition. 

But in our future lectures we shall have an opportunity 
of referring to such points more fully and distinctly. In 
the mean time, let us recapitulate, and under one view, the 
various points of the present lecture, in order that we may 
see them under their natural light or natural obscurity, 
and no longer confound together the known and the un- 
known. 

The points, then, both known and unknown, are these : 
In the first place, that the human race is one. and that 
this oneness is recognized as a truth of religion, and be- 
comes morally and civilly recognizable also in those uni- 
versal principles of the moral law which all men more or 
less discover written in their hearts, or described in their 
social usages, to which the implanted moral sense responds. 
All human beings understand the moral obligations and 
yield them homage : this is the veriest sign of natural unity, 
the most catholic and the most intelligible. The other sign, 
which is a physical one, is inscribed on the human form ; 
the human form is one, — the same bones, teeth, obvious 
relations and proportions, attitudes, movements, phj^sical 
gesture, and behavior,— so that all who see the creature say, 
" it is a man," and there is not even room for equivocation, 
so palpable is the fact. This, then, is the first known and 
clear point. Eeligion sheds one light on it, and science 
another, and we read it both in sunlight and in moonlight, 
that man is one, essentially so, the image of his maker on 
the one hand, the epitome of nature on the other. 



LECTURE VII, 193 

The second point is this, that this one family, man, is 
composed ab origine of several very distinct and different 
members, some of which are very well defined and obvi- 
ously separated from each other, as, for example, the Cau- 
casian and Negro, and others not less distinct, although 
not so easily shown ; this, I say, is the second point of our 
lecture, and it is maintained that these distinctions origi- 
nate in that terra incognita of natural facts which looms 
behind in the far distance, — within that dark and shadowy 
epoch beneath whose dynasty also the natural species and 
genera first came into being on our globe, and, among the 
rest, man himself: this second point, then, you will observe, 
belongs partly to the obscure and partly to the bright por- 
tions of our knowledge. It is a bright fact, and there is 
no denying of it, for instance, that the 'Negro and the 
European belong to distinct races of micn, I mean such as 
cannot be shown to be bred out of any combination of 
causes, natural or artificial, with which we are acquainted : 
and the causes, then, or the things which produced those 
original distinctions, I aver that I know nothing of, — they 
are obscure. 

The third point is this, — and which is partly obscure, 
but, I believe, will not always remain so, — that there 
should exist such disparity of civilization in these different 
races. I have said something on this subject, and will say 
more in the next lecture : but time itself will be the fullest 
elucidator, — when also the just, and the true, and the good, 
under the beneficent influence of the Christian religion, and 
the cultivation of the virtues, shall be more thoroughly 
appreciated and more dearly loved. 

A fourth point is not obscure, but, notwithstanding, very 
wonderful, — to wit, that men are so moulded by education 
and religion as to produce those latent forms of beauty 
and gracefulness which were unknown to themselves and 
their progenitors, but which, through loved and cherished 

17 



194 NATURAL HISTOUY OF MAN. 

habits of virtue in themselves, afterwards become conspic- 
uous in their offspring. In this fact is laid the possibility 
of indefinite human improvement, according to the natural 
genus and character or race, but not to the obliteration of 
either: the Caucasian becomes a noble Caucasian, the 
Negro a noble Negro ; the one the brilliant form of versa- 
tile genius, the other the very type itself of affection and 
of gentleness. This is not only a clear point but also a 
very interesting one. 

A fifth point — which is so very obscure that I shall say 
nothing on it, and hardly drag it into day (but those that 
choose can think upon it) — is this, that, as it is proven that 
certain races of animals have become extinct, — forty-five 
species of Pachydermata, says Cuvier, many approaching 
the elephant in size, — in like manner, may it not be — but 
none can tell — that not a few members also of the universal 
human race have been actually and physically " blotted out 
of the book of life?" — if so, through their own fault, we 
may be well assured ; and the warning is a tremendous 
one: without any literal conflagration, not only nations 
but even whole natural races, branch and root, may cease to 
be ; and the earth and heaven, as respects them, " perish," 
although to " endure forever" to other new and regenerate 
races. Let not, then, the Caucasian boast, nor the Ethio- 
pian either; they hold their physical and generic existence 
on the tenor solely of this law, " whatsoever ye would that 
men should do to you, do ye even so to them." 

But this fifth point is an extremely obscure one, and 
I shall even leave it so; although who can think on the 
pyramids of Teotehuacan and Cholula, and the human fig- 
ures, so peculiar and distinct from any physiognomy now 
existing, there discovered on their broken and shattered 
monuments,— or those numerous mounds which dot this con- 
tinent, — assuredly it had not been always a wilderness^ — who 
can think on these things, and not have his misgivings ? 



LECTURE VII. 195 

But with better omens would we close this lecture, — to 
hail once more new races of men just starting on the career 
of civilization. Our own intellectual light may be eclipsed 
or obscured under a milder and softer radiance yet to be 
shed over the wilds of Africa, the plains of Hindostan, or 
the far-spreading regions of China and of Tartary: but 
who shall regret it, if the reign of goodness shall at last 
supersede the supremacy of truth, and feminine prevail over 
masculine virtue ? It may be but a delusion of our Caucasian 
imagination that the latter is possessed of more vigor and 
majesty than the former : the Minerva of antiquity, although 
a female, was the goddess of war, and Homer surely was 
not ignorant of the natural emblem of strength. 



196 NATURAL HISTORY OP MAN. 



LECTURE Vlil. 

UNITY IN VARIETY OF THE HUMAN 
RACE. 



In Australasia there is an order of quadrupeds which are 
called the marsupial or pouched, and are prevalent there, 
particularly in New Holland, but have not their congeners 
in any other quarter of the globe, except it be one solitary 
species, the opossum of J^orth America. Can anyone per- 
ceive the reason why this peculiar order of animated beings 
should have such a locality assigned to them, and that one 
straggling species of the natural family should be found in 
this New World? There is an arrangement of animals on 
the globe, and of all living forms, which is founded on some 
reason^ — to us inscrutable and hidden among the mysteries 
of nature ; but, I know not how, it seems to be a feature of 
sublimity in this subject which elevates the mind even more 
than certain knowledge could have done, to find that there is 
an arrangement of living creatures, and that the boundaries 
of their habitations have been fixed, but that we are unable 
to discover the law of the arrangement or the reason on 
which it is founded, while at the same time we have an in- 
timate conviction that that law exists, and that that reason 
whence it proceeds is the perfection of intelligence. The 
very knowledge of our ignorance on such important points 
which touch on the divine government of the world is no 
slight acquisition of true philosophy, and is the best prep- 



LECTURE VIII. 197 

aration for the attainment of a pure and elevated mind, — 
the end of all knowledge. Although, therefore, in my last 
lecture I conveyed to you little positive information on the 
subject which engaged our attention, I am convinced it was 
the most profitable one, in many respects, which I have 
delivered, because the subject itself opens to us the widest 
view of a vast and unknown territory of future discovery, 
a new continent of philosophy, of which nearly all that we 
distinctly know is that it positively exists, and that it is a 
region strewed with the wonders of creation. 

I allude, you perceive, to the origin and collocation of 
species, which is a field invested with a pleasing mystery. 
Certain sceptics in theology have aff'ected surprise that the 
universal Christian religion should have had but one local 
origin ; what if it shall be found (and it seems likely to be 
established) that all generic and specific creations whatever, 
which in their origins could not help but be as purely 
miraculous as the Christian religion itself, — interruptions of 
the established order of nature, as we view it, — have also 
had each but one local centre from which they have been 
diffused, and those too selected on reasons as arbitrary 
apparently to us as the fact of the designation of one 
separate nation to be the depository of the first seed, or 
germ, of the Christian faith ? Equally arbitrary does it 
seem that races of men of distinct genius and character 
should have been assigned to certain determinate quarters 
of the globe ; but the fact is, nevertheless, incontestible. 
You can perceive even from the commentaries of Csesar, 
who wrote before the Christian era, the radical elements of 
the present French character in the barbarous tribes which 
inhabited the Gallic country. And the same observation 
may be made on Britain, Cermany, and other countries. 
Asia and Africa have a character marked on the human 
population as little to be mistaken, and on the whole and 
within certain limits as permanent, as that which is visible 

17* 



198 NATURAL HISTORY OP MAN, 

in the natural races of the animals of each, and of the plants 
which are found there. Is it the physical atmosphere which 
determines the character, or is it the peculiar institution of 
their religions and arts? But what, again, rendered that 
very institution peculiar? — the physical atmosphere of the 
country ? Here we shall find ourselves perpetually treading 
in an unintelligible circle of causes and effects, in regard to 
which we can determine neither the sequence nor the pre- 
cedence. How much nobler is it at once to make confession 
of our ignorance, and henceforth proceed to record the 
facts and occurrences, and to recognize the disposition of a 
Supreme Intelligence, whose reasons are beyond the ken of 
our most acute philosophy, and probably never can, unless 
very faintly and like shadows flitting on the surface of 
nature, be understood by us. 

Let us, then, with feelings of a different order, and more 
akin to simplicity, be willing to regard this globe, of which 
we are the inhabitants, — and which is under the entire dis- 
posal of an omnipotent Intelligence, — here parcelling out its 
different regions for different uses and various productions, 
whose ends and intentions (as well as the design of the 
whole arrangement) are perfectly known to the presiding 
Mind ; but we — like children looking on, and full of wonder 
and astonishment at all we behold, and very agreeably ex- 
cited by the stir and labor and movement which we discern, 
and the occasional and partial glimpses of the plan which 
we sometimes catch — are contented still to seek an innocent 
amusement and gratification in conjecturing what may come 
next, or what may be the design and purpose of this and the 
other arrangement, and what, after a time, when the whole 
is completed, and the summer and the harvest have arrived, 
— what then will be the aspect of all this fair and goodly 
show of created objects, which in the spring of their exist- 
ence interest us so much, and puzzle our understandings so 
thoroughly to comprehend what may be the general design, 



LECTURE VIII. 199 

scope, and tendency of it all ? But as children are benefited 
by their own conjectures and reasonings even about works 
which they cannot yet comprehend, and such amusement 
constitutes a salutary exercise of mind, so may we also derive 
benefit from those inquiries in which we are now engaged, 
difficult as they may seem; and we shall not therefore 
scruple to pursue them ; but our proposed course in this 
lecture we trust may be more satisfactory than our last. 

Were we to ascend the peak of Teneriffe, we should find 
(so botanists have informed us) its surface to be distin- 
guished by certain natural zones of vegetation, in marked 
and regular succession : the first, the region of vines, hav- 
ing the temperature best adapted to them ; the second, that 
of laurels, chestnuts, and oaks ; the third, of pines ; and 
then would succeed in order mountain broom, stunted grass, 
and the like, until the last vestige of vegetation disappeared. 
Very similar would be the arrangement of zones or botanical 
regions, from the equator towards either pole, if no irregu- 
larities of elevation, or other causes deranging the laws of 
the distribution of heat according to latitude, were inter- 
posed. In that case we should see either hemisphere of the 
globe marked off from the equator on either side, with each 
pole the central point, invested with regular zones of anal- 
ogous vegetation, blooming round the earth, — stripes and 
patches laid ofP, with all the exactness of an artificial 
garden. There would still be (supposing the present laws 
of nature in other respects to prevail) the same varietj^ of 
species that now exist, but their localities would be regu- 
larly determined and readily identified ; still, according to 
that plan of nature which we have known to obtain, it 
would not follow that at corresponding points of latitude, 
and consequently climate, and location, an absolute identity 
of species would be found ; only the general aspect of vege- 
tation would be similar; the cursory view of the landscape 
might create the impression that plants were the same, and 



200 NATURAL HISTORY OP MAN. 

it would not happen until we had examined them with 
some attention that we could discover them to be specifically 
different. Identity of climate and location, therefore, do 
not secure identity of specific character, but what we may 
call identity of analogy only. There is just that sameness 
which may inform us that we are still under the dominion 
or within the premises of the same prevailing nature, but 
that this nature is inexhaustible in her resources ; that she 
can diversify her plans with endless profusion of forms and 
types of beauty, but never lose sight of that sacred prin- 
ciple of unity which is the main charm of her works, and 
the symbol of His presence who has crowned her with all 
this loveliness and perfection. 

It is indeed most wonderful to observe (and the notoriety 
of the fact ought not to be permitted to divest it of its 
interest) how the same unity of design and plan of action, 
so to speak, is pursued undeviatingly from region to region, 
from continent to continent,— how mountains, how oceans 
even, interposed, are not allowed to interrupt or to con- 
found this oneness of intention, this harmony and continuity 
of parts. It seems almost incredible to us that nations of 
men could ever have admitted into their creed the idea of 
a plurality of gods, when the whole of nature bears on it 
so distinctly the impress of one mind, — nay, the more 
strikingly, for that it is so exceedingly diversified, than if 
there prevailed an absolute sameness, a perfect monotony 
over the whole surface of the globe ; and under all similar 
circumstances of climate and location, plants and animals 
were not only analogous, but also specifically and indi- 
vidually alike. For amid such a multiplicity of apparently 
contradictory and opposing objects, still to superinduce a 
unity, and to fix it so graphically on all of them as to be 
the most conspicuous ]point everywhere, seems to me the 
clearest indication not only of One, but an Almighty In- 
telligence. 



LECTURE VIII. 201 

So remarkable is this fact in nature, and constantly 
present to our observation, that it seems indelibly to have 
impressed itself upon our minds, so that we instinctively 
expect to find nature everywhere the same, and on the 
strength of this expectation sometimes err in supposing an 
identity where analogy only is to be discovered. For this 
natural unity, in distant parts of the globe, becomes visible 
under generic rather than specific characters. We find, for 
example, on this continent, growing wild and spontaneous, 
the same natural classes of trees, shrubs, and other plants, 
which are to be met with in Europe : the genera are the 
same, but the species for the most part different, almost 
entirely so at those points of either continent where they 
are most widely separated. Thus, we find here, as on the 
continent of Europe, the pine, the beech, the elm, the alder, 
the walnut, the oak, the thorn, but the species are very 
rarely the same : the genera hold, the species vary. And the 
Euroi)ean traveller, at certain points of his journey across 
this continent, might stop to indulge for a moment the 
pleasing illusion that he was in the midst of some wild 
scene of his own country; he finds himself surrounded 
with aspects and brief glimpses of nature so perfectly 
similar. But a little further consideration dispels the illu- 
sion : he discovers the plants at his feet to be not precisely 
identical; he may recognize some old acquaintances, — the 
dandelion, or the wild trefoil, — but these he soon finds to 
have been exotics like himself; the great majority of the 
species are foreign to him in their individual bearing, in their 
general aspect somewhat familiar; they have enough to 
identify them as the property of the same nature which has 
impressed her own seal upon them, but they have distinct 
peculiarities of their own, which constitute, as it were, 
their individual name and rank in the families of Flora. 
The same remarks will apply to the animal tribes, whether 
quadruped or winged. The earlier settlers of this country 



202 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

gave to the new birds which they met with the names of 
such as were before familiar to them, from some general 
resemblance which they discovered, and indeed the general 
resemblance is visible, but the specific identity is no longer 
to be found. And that word, Aome, which the first emi- 
grants labored so earnestly to fix on every object around 
them, refused to remain legible on the tablets of nature. 
It was indeed their home, inasmuch as it was a grand 
division of that magnificent dwelling-place which the 
author of nature has prepared for all his children ; it was 
home in this sense, and they could recognize all the analo- 
gous vestiges of his care, and of his providence, as in their 
own first, and domestic, and familiar home ; but still, inas- 
much as the species of objects were changed before their 
eyes, they were obliged at last to consider it a new home, 
a foreign home. The associations of childhood were grad- 
ually dropped, the recollections of the old world melted 
away, and, as a new offspring of human beings sprung up, 
new attachments and new sympathies grew and extended; 
and fresh and before unexplored aspects of nature became 
familiar; until at length those characteristics of natural 
scenery and of living beings which are here unfolded have 
become the standard of nature to the inhabitants, which 
they would instinctively expect to meet with even in those 
countries whence their forefathers came, and might feel a 
certain disappointment in not discovering them there : they 
would look round them to find their own mocking-birds, 
the majestic maize, the peculiar shrubbery of their own 
native forests, and might perhaps try to soothe their dis- 
appointment by affixing familiar "household words" to 
strange objects, on such fancied analogies as might at first 
strike them. 

I mention these facts as showing that we have a certain 
and instinctive expectation of finding nature everywhere 
the same,— alw^ays consistent with and true to herself; and 



LECTURE VIII. 203 

whence arises this expectation, but from those impressions 
which from the first dawn of existence have been made 
upon us? For our minds are, as it were, an invisible 
mirror : they receive and constantly retain a general and 
on the whole a true image of nature, which requires indeed 
certain readjustments from our reason on some points, but 
in others is more vivid and just than philosophy herself, 
with all her study, could ever render it. And this is ex- 
hibited principally in those natural sentiments which are 
found to be universal among mankind : they are, for the 
most part, — nay, we may say always, in some modified 
sense, — the spontaneous expression of some universal law, 
the reflected image of nature's voice caught from the 
human soul, and on that account entitled to our most 
careful consideration. For surely the unbiassed evidence 
of the human mind itself, in regard to certain kinds of 
truth, is not less deserving of attention than are those 
chemical or otherwise physical tests, for the most part 
preferred by the inductive philosophy. And this copy, 
taken, as it were, unconsciously to our minds, of the true 
laws of nature, is oftentimes more legible, as a transcript^ 
than the bright original, which is sometimes too bright for 
our intellectual reading. The sentimental knowledge is not 
only the best, but sometimes the only knowledge which 
can be had. 

In regard, however, to this natural expectation which 
we entertain in respect to the consistency and unity of 
nature, it is confirmed at all points and readily verified by 
the widest intellectual scrutiny. And the instinctive senti- 
ment receives constant accessions of strength and vividness 
from those numerous and striking analogies which are 
found to prevail throughout the animal, vegetable, and 
mineral kingdoms, those emulations, as it were, of nature 
to approach as nearly as possible to some certain one invisi- 
ble standard, unknown to us, but known to her; as if this 



204 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

very nature herself, and her whole delegated ministry, had 
received some such commission as that which Moses, the 
sacred and moral architect, received, — see that you build, 
see that you construct, see that you make everything, 
" after the pattern which I have shown you on the mount." 
And it would even seem that we also unwittingly had 
received some intimation in our inner mind of some such 
order having been enjoined, whence are bred those in- 
stinctive and irrepressible expectations of finding exter- 
nally and naturally everywhere this most sweet and 
grateful image of unity. But neither is this expectation 
disappointed, nor the truth of the sentiment impaired, for 
that we discover this unity set^ as it were, on endless 
variety; rather is our delight thereby enhanced, and the 
sentiment itself extended and enlarged. It is now unity 
embosomed in infinity, it is the One and the Infinite, and 
it is the symbol in nature of that cardinal truth of our 
most holy religion, which I dare only to express here in 
its own native phraseology, lest otherwise I should profane 
it, — o fiovoysvyj^ oio<^ 6 wv etq rov xoX-kov re narpoq (John, C. 1, 
V. 18). And it is through this unity so grounded on 
variety, that our natural sentiment is gratified, and at the 
same time our curiosity awakened ; we are introduced to 
familiar ideas under new forms, to fixed laws written in a 
foreign language. Our industry is excited, and attracted 
by that novelty which strikes us at first in the forms of 
nature ; we are induced to examine again and again, and 
by such repeated persuals come to understand more per- 
fectly the spirit of those laws which are inscribed on crea- 
tion, — ^the expressions of the Divine wisdom and goodness. 
It is on this account that the visiting of foreign countries 
is so beneficial to one who has first received the benefits of 
a wise and liberal education, for nature, now ai)pearing to 
the mature and reflecting mind in a dress altogether new, 
is questioned in the spirit of an enlightened philosophy, — 



LECTURE VIII. 205 

if she be indeed the same or different; and what — and 
whence — and how related? We might even dare to think 
that the education of man, the regeneration of the human 
mind, was one main end proposed in the curious structure 
of the universe, — this " opus varium, et natura dsedala 
rerum ;" and certainly, in nothing could the end be so well 
provided for as by this institution of new species and 
varieties, so remarkable in visiting different provinces, by 
which the mind is constantly incited to inquiry ; while at 
the same time these sjoecies are never so capricious in their 
deviations, so remote from the generic standards, as to 
defeat all our endeavors to ascertain their analogies, and 
identify that unity which we expect everywhere to find ; 
there is even in their most devious wanderings, as it were, 
a tendency to return to some ideal or rather natural model, 
which seems to exert an influence over them all and to hold 
them in unison. It is still the same sweet melody which 
is poured forth from the har]3 of nature, but the local varia- 
tions are innumerable, and the harmony and compass, as it 
were, without bounds. It is certainly a remarkable cir- 
cumstance, in such instances, that unity, so far from being 
effaced or obliterated by the introduction of such natural 
and permanent varieties, is only rendered thereby more 
conspicuous, and becomes a fixed object to the under- 
standing. 

But of this unity set on variety, which is that character 
of it which nature herself employs, the instances are every- 
where and around. Take that which embraces all others, — 
the earth itself. How finely do all its parts consent into 
one, while the law of gravitation which binds them is itself 
that universal note of harmony, while the form of the 
whole and the even motion on its axis speak a similar 
language, — that immense variety, and that sometimes 
apparent strife, which prevails on its bosom, and seems to 
disturb the tranquillity of nature in its form and its motion, 

18 



206 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

vam'sli and disappear to enhance our conception of its 
grandeur. 

But to turn our eye from the whole on the parts, or rather 
the departments of nature, we here again meet with the 
same interesting characteristics. What is the mineral 
kingdom? Its unity is not merely an abstraction of philos- 
ophy, adopted for the convenience of classification, but an 
actual truth and distinction ; but it is variety that forms this 
body and substance of unity. The like remark is readily 
applied to the vegetation of nature, and all its classifications 
and orders, for these are fixed in creation, and, although 
sometimes mimicked and obscured by artificial arrange- 
ments, nevertheless the variousness of nature has its own 
landmarks here, in which and by which and from which 
this sacred and mystic unity stands out justly and beauti- 
fully defined. And why after this need I mention the 
animal kingdom ? I pass it, to fix your attention on another, 
the human kingdom, — on man. 

And here at last, as the unity is the most perfect (for it 
is the image of the essential unity), so is the variousness 
the most perfect also. And as the unity is natural, I mean 
a part of the original constitution of nature, and not the 
product of successive cii'cumstances, so must also the typical 
variousness be so considered ; it also has arisen with nature 
and is contemporaneous with her, being, as it were, the ground 
and constituent of the former, the first in fact, although not 
the^rs?^ in end. Without a natural variety of men — I mean 
distinct races — the natural unity could receive no illustration 
or distinction. But, as the unity itself is not considered 
sporadic, or the product of physical circumstances, so 
neither ought the variety to be so considered ; and to main- 
tain therefore that these distinctions of natural and stable 
races are to be accounted for on certain supposed inferences 
of climate, and other external contingencies, is a species of 
reasoning that would quickly land us in absurdity; for if 



LECTURE VIII. 207 

some certain permanent distinctions are to be ascribed to 
such influences, why not all ? If the climate or some other 
extraneous causes have made the Negroes black and given 
them thick lips and woolly hair, then some such causes of a 
contrary action, but of the same external features, must 
have made the Europeans white, given them thin lips, and 
adorned their heads with flowing locks of graceful hair. 
And neither is the action of such cases to be supposed to 
stop here ; for if climate can thus modify lips, and blanch 
and blacken skins, it might also have made them originally, 
and so at last not only the modifications of man, bat the 
entire man might be declared the pure creature of circum- 
stances^ endowed with the prerogatives of creation. Such 
is the absurdity of this mode of reasoning. And we can 
only escape from it by deciding at once that the variety of 
races as well as their unity, being both ingenerate and fixed, 
are also both original. 

The reasonings of mankind upon this subject are indeed 
exceedingly vague. The human race, say they, is one, and 
here they are right ; but, instead of looking for that one in 
the whole, — a real unity, such as nature has made, and not 
man fancied, — they seek for it in some one certain type 
which they consider pre-eminent. The consequence of this 
has been an amusing display of vanity, for the philosophers, 
being for the most part of the white race, have never hesi- 
tated to select this as their type, the pattern card, as it were, 
after which all others were to be formed ; but some, no doubt 
from their own fault, have been hit off less perfectly ; and 
one family, in particular, the Negro, having straggled off 
from the rest, within the peninsula of Africa, has incurred 
the penalty of an error, and been branded with thick lips 
and black skin, whereas " the first man," who was no doubt 
a Caucasian, was white, and had lips and hair yqyj much 
resembling our own, only more graceful and beautiful. 

You will observe that philosophers here labor under the 



208 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

same sort of delusion in regard to the fact of the real unity 
of the human family, to which I had occasion to refer when 
speaking on the unity of human language ; that unity is 
enthroned in the Hebrew language, according to the popular 
ai:)prehension, or in some other oriental dialect, now extinct, 
which is believed to have been universal before the tower 
of Babel was attempted to be built ; so much do men de- 
grade by their absurd speculations the most sacred and 
beautiful truths. But as it has been shown that the unity 
of human speech did not depend on the use of any one 
dialect, but on that consent of minds which is the result of 
the submission of the understanding to the Creator of the 
universe, when all are impelled forward to one goal, so now 
the true unity of the human race itself is not to be sought 
for, or to be supposed to be represented, in any one extinct 
or living variety, but rather in that harmony of all the parts 
which we may believe once to have existed and still to be 
possible. If, then, we would see a true representation of 
that unity so delightful to the imagination, we must think 
of all the various tribes of men, and, divesting them of all 
those deformities and ugly features which foul and beastly 
passions have left imprinted upon them, imagine all their 
latent capabilities of lovely and manty expression developed 
to the utmost degree, and combined in a single pair, fresh 
from the Creator's hands, and his pure stamp upon their 
souls : in such personages of the imagination we might see 
depicted some faint idea of the unity of the human family ; 
but would the dark ground, would the olive, would the red, 
would white be wanting? What a combination of perfec- 
tions must be imagined in the synopsis of this wide-spread 
family of mankind ! Perhaps, if we could regard the whole 
human family now as with the eye of a superior intelligence, 
we should see them as one man, although deformed, shorn 
of their loveliness and of their once sinless majesty, and no 
longer such as they were once beheld in that happy mystic 



LECTURE VIII. 209 

pair which the vision of Moses saw as he looked backward 
on the birth of time and the origin of mankind under the 
illumination of heavenly light. It was then he spoke of 
the first pair and of the first language ; but how incapable 
are we to conceive what he beheld, confined to the narrow 
views of science, who cannot even think of a language 
unless it resemble our own conventional dialects, nor of a 
first j^air until we have ascertained the longitude and lati- 
tude of their early residence, and discovered the type or 
native race of which they wore the resemblance ! 

But let us bear more closely on our subject. It will be 
seen then, from our observations in the last lecture, as 
well as the tenor of our present remarks, that we recog- 
nize a unity in the human race, but at the same time a 
unity constituted on varieties, and recognizable in them, — 
in them altogether, and not in any single family merely, 
or natural race of men. For, so far from considering any 
one race as the beau ideal of nature, and all the rest as 
deviations from it, I judge it more safe, as well as more 
rational, to consider the beau ideal as entirely eclipsed by 
sin and evil, or like the prophet Elisha carried up into 
heaven, and all the present existing races of men deviations, 
disjointed and separated materials of one immense edifice 
of humanity, which, when compacted and put together 
justly, was indeed a fair and beautiful sight to look upon, a 
more glorious temple than sun has ever since shone on, 
but now a heap of ruins, on which, however scattered and 
confused, we may still trace the emblems of a great design, 
and, cheered by the promises of revelation, we can still hope 
for an entire restoration of the original. We mentioned, 
in our lecture on the evidence of geology, that our modern 
continents are constructed out of the ruins of those which 
have before existed, and that their origin is but recent, 
compared with the age of the earth. We might make a 
similar observation in regard to the human race itself; the 

18* 



210 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

present families of mankind are but the wrecks and ruins 
of men, and the period of their partial recovery exceedingly 
recent: they have but just entered, so to speak, on their 
new career, and, having collected a few wrecks of their 
former fortune, the remnants of original truths, are attempt- 
ting to recover their former state. 

It is from not sufficiently attending to these facts — I 
mean the comparatively recent origin of our present civil- 
ization, and the actually incipient stage of the modern 
human race — that we are sometimes led to indulge in the 
most gloomy forebodings respecting the ultimate fate of 
very large portions of mankind. So far back as our own 
history goes, we find an evident progress in the Caucasian 
race, while, on the contrary, the Negro appears to us to 
have been stationary ; but we ought to reflect that there may 
be a progress, although we cannot trace it, — that the moral 
distance between the two races may be so great that their 
proper movements are insensible to each other, as certain 
motions among the fixed stars are said to be such as to be 
hardly appreciable after thousands of years, on account of 
the vastness of the interval which separates them from us, 
while even millions may be necessary at last to ascertain 
the actual periods of their revolution. At all events, the 
v^orld is evidently yet too young, from those appearances of 
progress which at present strike us, to undertake to deter- 
mine beforehand the relative destiny of the respective 
races of mankind. And it may also be part of the design 
of nature, for all wq can tell to the contrary (as I intimated 
in my last lecture), that one race in particular, the Cau- 
casian or European, should act as the pioneers of the others, 
and should be endowed accordingly with that precocity of 
understanding and intrepidity of mind necessary to carry 
such design into effect. 

I alluded in my last lecture to the remarkable fact that 
the African, or more properly the ISTegro, should have little 



LECTURE VIII. 211 

or no disposition to wander from his native seats, — in this 
respect strongly contrasted with the European, even in the 
most barbarous condition of the latter, who always has 
been, not less than at present, extremely migratory, and 
unsettled in his habits and propensities. The African stays 
at home, is contented and satisfied, — a feature of natural 
character which, while associated in our imagination with 
his present degradation, may appear even a part of that 
very degradation ; but which, on a more philosophical view, 
and when taken in connection with other native traits of 
mind, would seem to augur a jDeculiarly gentle and beauti- 
ful sj)ecies of civilization, when he shall have once taken 
his rank in the society of perfect men and ennobled races. 
There is undoubtedly here an apparently vacant space for 
him to occupy, and which seems by no means adapted to 
the genius of the Caucasian tribe. These have no real 
heartfelt admiration of the milder and gentler aspects of a 
pure and dignified civilization ; the}^ have, on the contrary, 
a natural proneness to admire the bolder features of an in- 
tellectual refinement, to be acute, precipitate, headstrong, 
resistless in their course, while a high honor, an extreme 
daring, a dauntless spirit of freedom, and a love of inde- 
pendence are among the most specious idola tribus which 
all hearts are disposed to worship; and certainly these are 
some of the grander characteristics of human nature, but 
by no means the chief or even the most endearing orna- 
ments of humanity. All the sweeter graces of the Chris- 
tian religion appear almost too tro]Dical and tender plants 
to grow in the soil of the Caucasian mind ; they require a 
character of human nature of which you can see the rude 
lineaments in the Ethiopian, to be implanted in, and grow 
naturally and beautifully withal. When I read the New 
Testament, and note the sweet and lovely character of the 
virtues recommended, — that almost female tenderness of 
mind which both the flourishing of them and the perfect- 



212 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

ing of them presuppose, — I am impressed with the convic- 
tion that other than the European race must become the 
field of their insemination ere we can see them in their nat- 
ural perfection. I am far from saying that this race is not 
naturally capable of exhibiting a certain order o^ the virtues 
of the Christian religion, such, namely, as tally with their 
character, — a vigor and freedom of soul, a manly sense of 
justice, a rational love of truth, an enlightened faith, and a 
rough, active charity : but all these are but the first tier of 
Christian virtues, and our surly rapid intellects are hardly 
susceptible of others. And this therefore leads me to augur, 
and I think on grounds which are good, that a race more 
feminine and tender-minded than the Caucasian is needed 
to reflect the sweetness and gentle beauty of the Christian 
religion, — its mystic, quiet, humble spirit; for its sterner 
feature, its doctrinal majesty, is already represented per- 
fectly in the Catholic, and especially the Protestant, Cauca- 
sian; but the Catholic representing these more gently, and 
with some mixture of humbler mysticism. Believing as 
we all do, and indeed are sure, that the Christian religion 
is a divine wardrobe of sacred investiture, containing gar- 
ments for all kinds and orders of wearers, and finding that 
the rougher and plainer robes only, so to speak, have been 
yet appropriated, and that there are others there of much 
finer texture, and adapted to sunnier skies, still unusual, 
but graceful, flowing, and beautiful withal, we cannot 
escape from the conviction that there are nations of a dif- 
ferent natural stamp to come within the pale of sacred civ- 
ilization, and it is not hard to believe that the Ethiopian 
tribes are these. It has been beautifully observed by Dr. 
Wiseman, a learned and excellent Catholic writer, that the 
morality of the Christian religion is not national, but uni- 
versal, — that is to say, that it contains within its own nat- 
ural sheath or trunk the living germs of all national and 
sectional morality, the varied types of all spiritual and 



LECTURE VIII. 213 

moral perfections, but is not itself any one of these, nor at 
all local, but divine, and above them all. 

It may seem to you strange that I should seek for eluci- 
dations of the natural history of man from the character- 
istics of the Christian religion ; but yet it is permitted, it 
is legitimate illustration. It is as if you were to learn 
that a box of curious tools, of all characters and sizes, of 
every degree of lightness and strength, had been sent by 
a distant and unseen person, but known to be wise and 
benevolent, to a family of many members, none of which 
tools were intended to be useless or unemployed ; and 
after the third hour of the day you should find that a great 
many of these were still unused and unappropriated : you 
must conclude that many members of the family had not 
yet arrived to select those which were especially designed 
for them, adapted to their peculiar genius and native dex- 
terity, for the execution of new and beauteous arts ; either 
this is so, or the other members of the family have mistaken 
their genius and native bent, and taken a wrong direction. 
But yet how can this be? Have the Caucasians mistaken 
their genius? No one will say so who reflects on their 
actions, or those arts, emulous of the perfection of nature, 
which have been designed by them. The arts and the sci- 
ences of the Caucasians are matters of high avail, of ines- 
timable price, of indispensable utility, not to the necessities 
of animal life merely, but to the intellectual dignity of the 
soul. 'No, the Caucasian race have not been ill employed, 
nor have those tools which they have selected not been 
such as were designed and made for them by the author of 
their nature; the Caucasian race have not been ill em- 
ployed, although they have not exhausted — very far from 
it — that chest of divine instruments sent down from heaven 
for the benefit of all mankind, of whatever genius or tem- 
perament; no, they have not been ill employed, they who 
have been the inventors of arts, the legislators and bene- 



214 NATURAL HISTORY OP MAN. 

factors of mankind. I call to witness, first, the indefatiga- 
ble, the wonderful Archimedes, whose genius may be said 
to have been the parent of the mechanical arts, and the 
source of those useful inventions of which a profusion has 
enriched our times : could the Ethiopian have accomplished 
anything like this? What mechanical inventions ever 
sprung from his mind? What discovery in the mathe- 
matics or in the arts was ever made south of Mount Atlas ? 
Archimedes, let him appear — of the Caucasian race — as 
the representative of science. Plato next, in analytic 
philosophy: could an Ethiopian, with that facility, take hu- 
man thought in pieces, reconstruct it, and show its laws and 
aptitudes as did Plato ? As a founder of the social state, I 
next call up Arthur, the English king, and with him his mod- 
ern compeer, the American Washington : these are speci- 
mens of Caucasians, great in building up the social state. 
In science, in analytical philosophy, in political abilities, I 
merely remind you there have been such men in the Cau- 
casian tribe; these are suns; but there are hundreds of 
others. The constellation of their brilliancies eclipses, 
throws the poor Ethiopian sadly in the shade ; for what 
can he match with these? ^Nothing, — of like kind. The 
Ethiopian soil of men yields plants of no such stem or hue 
as these. And it is in vain for us to dissemble : we are 
justly proud of such specimens of men, and we strive — and 
rightly, too — to imitate some of their great qualities; their 
character and style of virtue best suits our taste ; we can- 
not be untrue, and we ought not, to that province of dignity 
and trust which has been allotted us by nature. But still 
as men, and to pay a debt of justice to other races, we 
ought so far to withdraw ourselves from our own stand- 
ards as to be able to see other tribes of men, not in the 
light of our standards, which are partial, but in the light 
of the Christian religion, which is oecumenical. And this 
light will indeed equally condemn the vices of savages 



LECTURE YIII. 215 

and of civilized men ; but it will at the same time show 
the just proportions and analogies of all species of intellec- 
tual and moral greatness: and it will show the natural 
ground of a sweetness and serenity of moral perception to 
be more valuable than a vigorous capacity for scientific 
research or political legislation. 

But of the Ethiopians and Caucasians, as contrasted, let 
what has been already said suffice ; of the unnatural mix- 
ture or amalgamation of the two races I shun to speak ; to 
the evil effects of it the Copts bear testimony — "Yeneris 
monumenta nefandse." But on that topic, also, enough. 

Of the Caucasians themselves, as compared with each 
other, let me next speak. They are essentially one race, 
but exhibit several distinct and permanent varieties, which, 
however, may so mix as rather to improve than to deterio- 
rate the general race. 

But of the Caucasians there are some who show more 
strikingly the peculiar features of the race than others, — 
more of that enterprising spirit, that roving disposition, 
that inquisitiveness of mind, that haughty, j^roud, over- 
bearing character, which in general mark the whole. 
Others, again, are more pacific, dreamful, and mystinal, — 
on whose minds fall the shadows of great thoughts, but 
they are little disposed to analyze or examine them, being 
contented rather to narrate than to investigate, made 
rather to reflect than to demonstrate truth. Of the former 
description are those who have pushed farthest westward 
on the European continent, — the Britons and those tribes 
from which they have sprung, whether of Germany or 
Gaul; all these are pre-eminently distinguished by a rest- 
less, inquisitive spirit, spurning fancies and mysticism, and 
believing only in their eyes and ears, protestcuits hy nature, 
and atheists in vice ; such has been their character from 
the earliest times, and it is durable as their hills, and rough 
as their climate. '-'The Germans," says Caesar, — this is 



216 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

that red-haired, blue-eyed, gigantic wild race which after- 
wards overran the Eoman empire, — '' the Germans" (and 
this shows their protestant propensities even before the 
Christian era) " have no regular priests to preside over 
religion or to perform sacrifices, esteeming as gods those 
only which they see, and by whose powers they are actu- 
ally benefited, as, for instance, the sun, the moon, and 
Yulean ; other gods they have not even heard of" The 
account of Tacitus is essentially the same, that "they do 
not confine their gods within the walls of temples, or liken 
them to the human form, but hold certain groves sacred, 
and worship that unseen Intelligence which they behold 
with the mind." Such are the mental characteristics of 
this branch of the Caucasian race ; those who stand con- 
trasted with them, and reach the other extreme, are the 
Asiatic part of the family, I mean as respects local habita- 
tion. These are the mystics of the race, susceptible to 
impulses, and apt to retain them ; addicted to sense rather 
than intellectual vision ; preserving eyitire the impressions 
which have been made upon them, just because they have 
no disposition to analyze them, or to resolve them into their 
original elements. The most remarkable tribe of this grand 
branch of the Caucasian race St. Paul has described graph- 
ically in a single clause, and contradistinguished them from 
the Greeks, who belonged to an entirely different branch. 
" The Jews," says he, " ask signs; the Greeks seek wisdom^ 
hmbaioi ff-qixsia aireai^ xat EXX-qveq ao(piav ^i]rsGiv (1 Cor. i. 22.) 
This demand for miracles^ or the wish to behold sensible 
representations of abstract principles, rather than to see 
them mentally, fixes at once the natural character, as well 
as that branch generally of the Caucasian race to which 
he was attached. The Greeks had little or none of this 
character, except what they derived from their intercourse 
with Asia ; they had an innate fondness for abstract specu- 
lation, and hence the character of their language, adapted 



LECTURE VIII. 217 

most admirably to the expression of purely mental rela- 
tions, and in this respect contrasted strikingly with the 
Hebrew and other oriental tongues, which exhibit only the 
outlines of natural objects, — the rude sketches of divine 
ideas, — rather than the finite relations of human thought. 
This whole Caucasian race, then, while it possesses a unity 
of character, as contrasted with other races of men, pre- 
sents at the same time several remarkable and fixed varie- 
ties, which give body and harmony to the whole. 

Let us advert to the most remarkable of these. Begin- 
ning at the most easterly point and proceeding westward, 
we have first the cradle of the race, for from this locality 
it seems originally to have sprang, — the Jews, Persians, 
and most ancient Egyptians ; these are the mystics of the 
family, your genuine lovers of the marvellous, and the 
most ready ahvays to believe it ; in its original, unblem- 
ished integrity, a most interesting and important part of 
human character, — bearing the same analogy and relation 
to the other races or varieties of men, that childhood does 
to manhood, that perception does to reasoning, that matter 
of fact bears to matter of inference or deduction. This 
character of people receive the most correct impressions of 
Deity, and of those sensible facts and experiences, on which 
all rational and spiritual religion must be built, and without 
which, as its support, it would be indeed altogether but the 
baseless fabric of a vision. Hence it comes that the notices 
and reminiscences and earlier records of all these nations 
serve the same purposes of indispensable reference to other 
nations more intellectual and philosophical, which his stock 
of facts and observations collected in infancy does to the 
individual when he has arrived at maturity and devotes 
himself to the analysis of those sentiments and opinions 
which he has early imbibed. Hence also it is that the 
foundations of all our systems of religion have been laid 
among that people or their descendants. 

19 



218 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

Among the Arabs, which also belong to this class of the 
Caucasians, sprung up the Mahometan faith ; it is only 
among such people, sufficiently infantile to be capable of 
wonder, that such a system could have taken root. There 
is no necessity for supposing Mahomet to have been a bad 
man, or even a designing man; there is no necessity even 
for supposing that certain extraordinary^ and even miracu- 
lous impressions were not made upon his mind, sufficient, 
at least, to make himself the first convert to his own opinions. 
If we are led to suppose (and we cannot but do so) that 
there must be some extraordinary process at work in the 
organization of new species of plants, whose types have 
never before appeared, much more may we not rationally 
conclude that certain very uncommon and mysterious in- 
fluences must be exerted on those singular minds which, at 
different periods of the world's history, have originated 
new systems of religion and new modes of w^orship ? Surely 
these are much more momentous every way, and efficacious 
of good or evil, bringing with them " airs from heaven or 
blasts from hell," than any new and original productions 
whatever, whether of plants or animals. E'ew religions do 
not merely aifect the surface of nature, add to or diminish 
the number of natural resources, but they plough up the 
very depths of human society, change the face of the moral 
world, alter and remodify the soul of man, and proceed so 
far as only not to abolish those original distinctions of 
genius and race which are alone capable of resisting their 
power. It is absurd, then, while we believe that not a new 
species of an insignificant plant or animal can arise without 
a special interposition of creative power, to think that new 
religions are allowed to be engendered, and to be spread 
among mankind, without a certain special exercise of the 
Providence of Grod. It may perhaps be said of all religions 
that in their original infantile state they contain more truth 
than error, more good than evil, more beauty than de- 



LECTURE VIII. 219 

formity ; and that the truth, the good, and the beauty are 
from God, and the error, evil, and deformity from men, but 
permitted for the sake of human freedom, and on account 
of the existing state of mankind. What then ? is it absurd 
to suppose that the Mahometan religion, which embodies 
the cardinal truth of the unity of God, and inculcates the 
laws of moral eharitj^, may have been in a certain sense 
jpermitted by God ; and that certain extraordinary impres- 
sions may have been made on the mind of Mahomet, suflS- 
cient to give a vivid coloring and natural reality to that 
system of superstition of which he was the author, just as 
some mystic power was exerted whensoever a new species 
of animals first sprung up, and not less, although for different 
ends, in the production of the ferocious and cruel than of 
the mild and peaceful tribes. 

But whether or not you will admit the reasonableness of 
this supposition, or whether you will choose rather to sup- 
230se that all such concoctions of new species of superstition 
are matters of sheer accident or political contrivance, I shall 
not stop to argue the question : it may again come up in 
some future lecture. I introduce it now merely to show 
that Asia is the land, and this portion of the Caucasian race 
the people, where and among whom such forms of delusion 
or of religion (call them which you will) have always most 
readily sprung up and taken deep root. I speak not now of 
different systems of the same essential faith ; the moulding 
of these, the Greeks, the Itahans, the Germans, the English, 
are fully adequate to ; but I speak of the actual birth of 
entirely new religions, — the original insemination of the 
plant, not the germinations merely, or the expansions of its 
leaves and buds. It appears that this great law of nature 
holds here also, as in all other inferior natural productions, 
that there is a natural centre whence religions originate, as 
well as appointed localities from which the original races of 
animals appear to have taken their rise. And there is an 



220 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

appropriate soil of the human mind, as well as an appro- 
priate age, in which religions first appear, under the eye 
and sovereign permission of Him who turns them all to 
good. In Arabia, aecordino;ly, we find (a.d. 622) a religion 
spring up, which has well-nigh covered the East, and even 
at one time made fearful inroads on Europe ; it was the 
religion of war and polygamy, while the Christian religion, 
on the other hand, was designed to be the religion of peace 
and monogamy, or true marriage. The latter expressed, 
and does express, the full mind of Grod, and no part of it is 
of permission merely, but the whole of Divine intention 
and design; and no human misdeeds are allowed to modify 
or tarnish its beauty ; like the rays of the sun, it can receive 
contamination from nothing, but withdraws itself from mor- 
tal contact, within the sheath of its own native purity. 
But with respect to the former, while it had borrowed 
features stamped upon it (I believe from Divine intention, 
in order that in its devastating career it might still effect 
good), yet, at the same time, its body and its coloring were 
exclusively of Asia, not of heaven or angelic ; and by its 
sensual allurements it was permitted to bind human minds, 
already degraded, to its sway ; and this binding may have 
raised them — it certainly has in some degree at least — in 
the scale of humanity. Arabia, Persia, then, are native 
homes of religion, superstition, delusion, — call it what you 
will. 

What shall we say of Egypt, also the ancient abode of 
the 7nystic Caucasian f Here, too, there prevailed an original 
form of superstition ; and Herodotus has clearly shown us 
that from this quarter the Greeks derived their most 
numerous deities and modes of worship. Egypt originated, 
but Greece improved, for the Greeks were not of the class 
of natural mystics ; we recur to the brief but graphic 
delineation of Paul, — -" the Jews" (and he might have 
added the Egyptians) " ask signs, the Greeks seek wisdom." 



LECTURE VIII. 221 

Accordingly we find the Greeks improve every form of 
superstition imported among them from the East or from 
Egypt, but they do not originate ; they beautify, they adorn, 
but they do not ms^ their gods. Superstition was imported 
into Greece in the state of blooms or pigs, but they soon 
shaped and hammered it into varied forms of beauty and 
elegance. The Greeks were characterized by a i^ure fancy, 
a just delicacy of feeling, as well as great aeuteness and 
subtilty of understanding; hence the superstitions of the 
nations, when retouched by their poets or modelled by their 
painters and sculptors, became a new thing, not indeed 
radically^ but from those moral and lovely features of true 
and elegant proportions which were now impressed upon 
them. How strikingly contrasted are the rude and gro- 
tesque images of Egyptian sculpture, of which you have 
seen the representations, with the elegant designs of Grecian 
art and invention ! The wildest superstition in their hands 
became beauty and instruction ; and Minerva indeed was no 
longer an idol, an Egyptian phantasy, but the yqvj emblem 
of divine intelligence. The contrast between these two 
nations in their modes of conception shows two distinct 
natural varieties of men in the Caucasian race, the one 
mystical, or rather superstitious, the other elegantly in- 
genious and beautifully fanciful. 

Of that other portion of mj^stics, the Jews, I shall say 
but little, as I have before spoken of them in a former lec- 
ture : only you are aware how difficult it was to preserve 
among them the pure original forms of the revealed truth. 
Although our religion in its early origin among them was 
altogether included in ritual forms, and thus was adapted 
to win their veneration, and they perhaps, from their love 
of the visible and sensible in all things, from their innate 
hankering after "signs," were of all people best fitted to 
guard and preserve this divine germ of heaven in its infan- 
tile and undeveloped state, while wrapped in an investment 

19* 



222 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

of rites and facts ; yet it seems with great difficulty that 
they could be preserved from paying it an idolatrous vene- 
ration. Not only the soul, but the body of our religion is 
divine; there is no part of it artificial in its original insti- 
tution ; and the same providential care which has adorned 
the human body even with external beauty, produced that 
fine contour of the limbs, those noble lineaments of coun- 
tenance, and this majestic head, decorated with comely 
locks, has also furnished in its earliest origin that embryo 
faith with the most perfect envelope of appropriate and 
expressive rites. To retain these in their perfection and 
integrity was the task assigned to the Jew, which, although 
peculiarly adapted to his genius, he did not always execute 
with fidelity, and the rites were sometimes in danger of 
being corrupted, but still miraculously saved. 

When our religion passed from the custody of the Jew 
to the keeping of the G-reek and the southern nations of 
Europe, it is instructive to mark the new dangers to which 
it was exposed, and this chiefly because the facts illustrate 
the distinctive characters of these people from those of the 
oriental Caucasians. The pure religion of heaven, unlike 
the superstitions of Egypt, when it passed into Greece 
required no aid from the polish and refinement of that 
nation ; the touch even of their perfect fancy could add 
nothing to its eternal'beauty, as the subtilty of their under- 
standing could in no way enhance the value or usefulness 
of its truths. The divine injunction in regard to it was as 
imperative on their elegant artists as on the less gifted 
Hebrews, — " lift not a tool upon it." Art could no more add 
perfection to the Christian religion, than it could improve 
the model of the human body, or of a single natural form, 
by substituting new parts or introducing new proportions : 
inasmuch as the proper task of art in such cases is faithfully 
to imitate, not to alter the divine type. 

But, nevertheless, the Grecian genius was not satisfied 



LECTURE VIII. 223 

with this. When the Christian religion was first intro- 
duced to their attention, they fixed upon it with the whole 
force of their natural subtilty. The arts had already de- 
clined, so that Christianity sustained little injury from their 
emulation ; but the philosophical, analytical acumen of the 
G-reeks retained all its natural vigor, or seemed even un- 
naturally increased by the loss of their liberties and the 
want of external excitement ; hence arose that morbid phi- 
losophy, that excessive desire to define and expound the most 
mysterious points of the Christian faith, which characterizes 
the fourth, fifth, and sixth centuries of our era. Here the 
strength and the weakness of the Grecian intellect were at 
once signally displayed ; but it was in vain that, with all 
their powers of expression and the nice distinctions of their 
inimitable language, they endeavored to confine within any 
other forms than its own that original and pure revelation 
whose truths never have been, and never can be, taken by 
the assault of the human intellect alone. They are revealed 
unto "babes," and philosophy cannot compass them; they 
are impressions rather than reasonings, and are reflected 
better on the tranquil mind than on the excited under- 
standing. They are the elements rather than the results 
of reasoning, but the Greeks did not so consider them, and 
they were disposed to receive them rather as the deductions 
of philosophy than the terms of a revelation. 

It shows the character of the Greek mind very remark- 
ably, and a superiority in the province of analytical investi- 
gation, that most of the terms of theological science, and 
the greater number of its technical distinctions, have been 
borrowed from the Greeks, and retained even in modern 
times. I say nothing of the intrinsic value of most of these 
distinctions ; at present, fortunately for the quiet of man- 
kind, they do not rate very high ; I speak only of that 
peculiar genius and character of mind in which they 
originate, — it is Greek. What Englishman or American 



224 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

would ever have adopted any such verbal distinctions as 
the following, unless on the suggestion and authority of 
some mind very different from his own? — " there are three 
persons in the Godhead, the same in substance, equal in 
power and glory," — this is pure Greek. Nothing can be a 
clearer proof of the real divinity of the Christian religion 
than that it should have risen triumphant over all these 
strenuous but vain attempts of philosophy to fasten it down 
to words and /orms and definitions; that it should still retain 
its own inherent beauty, notwithstanding all the contam- 
inating influences with which it has come in contact; that 
it should survive uninjured and unsoiled, at first the sensual 
superstitions of Asia, and at last the insinuating philosophy 
of the Greeks, and their admirers in modern times, and still 
exert a fresh and renovating influence over all who choose 
to submit themselves to its sway. As you might read the 
history of the mind of nations and see their character 
reflected from those improvements and works of art with 
which they have variously marked the surface of the earth 
and distinguished the vast landscapes of nature, so in that 
divine religion which exhibits similar features of immuta- 
biUty, analogous scenes of wide-spreading beauty, — in that 
religion, I say, as artificially decked with the motley garb, 
here of Greek and Eoman philosophy, and there of Catholic 
superstition or Protestant presumption, — you might read 
the natural characters of the different ages and races of 
men, and see no inaccurate j^icture of the true history of 
our species and the varied freaks of the human under- 
standing. But have all these labors been useless? have 
they been wrong ? Yery far from it ; it is not forbidden to 
cultivate the study of the Christian religion, and by these 
attempts to catch its expressions and to represent them the 
understandings of men are improved ; for it is im^DOssible to 
contemplate much a divine work without imbibing some- 
what of its spirit and being elevated thereby. 



LECTURE VIII. 225 

But let me pass westwardly and finish. I have shown 
you successively the Ethiopian and the Caucasian races ; 
and as belonging to the last the Arab, and Persian, the 
Egyptian and the Jew, — all these in a certain sense mystical 
and infantile, — the proper subjects of ritual revelations, 
devoted to fact and sensible signs : they " ask signs, the 
Greeks seek wisdom." I have next shown you the Greeks, 
and "the wisdom" of their philosophy, often travesting, 
sometimes tarnishing, the Christian religion ; the Germans, 
the Gauls, the Britons I have also referred to. To all these 
nations there belongs a more practical and utilitarian 
understanding than did distinguish either the Greek or the 
Oriental ; they are intellectual almost to a fault, but their 
Intelligence falls not so much into subtilty, as what they 
themselves call very significantly common sense. They are 
an exceedingly imperfect race, but that love of domination 
which distinguishes them so remarkably as individuals, and 
chiefly the Britons and their descendants, has at last en- 
gendered its own cure, in the production and institution of 
popular government, by which beautiful artifice the innate 
vanity of each individual, the desire of personal consequence, 
can be gratified by the reflection that he is himself " a pillar 
of state," — a unit of the sovereign people. That this system 
of equal rights and noble liberty has not arisen from a true 
grandeur of soul, or the heaven-born principle of pure 
philanthropy, is visible from the fact that that portion of 
the race which have pushed farthest west seemed sufli- 
ciently disposed, at least the majority, to rivet forever the 
chains of servitude (if God interpose not) on an innocent 
and ill-treated portion of the Ethiopian family, whose long 
and faithful services to their masters ought surely now to 
begin to gain for them a milder and a better fate. But this 
Western race of Caucasians are entitled to a separate 
lecture, which, " Deo favente,'' shall be our next. 



226 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 



LECTURE IX. 

CHARACTER OF THE ANCIENT 
GERMANS. 



There are numerous problems which the natural history 
of man proposes for solution, and, if I should do nothing 
more than bring several of these before you for individual 
reflection, I shall not have exerted myself in vain in the 
composition of these lectures. It is the love and investi- 
gation of truth, even more perhaps than its attainment, 
which improves and refines the human soul. None but the 
Infinite himself is in possession of absolute truth, for He 
is " the Truth ;" but he permits his creatures at this point 
and the other, of their terrestrial existence, to obtain 
glimpses of that ineffable hght which is the delight of all 
creation, — I mean the essential truth. More is not neces- 
sary for us, or more would be granted. 

But the great difficulty, and still not an unpleasant one, 
which presents itself to us in delineating the natural his- 
tory of man is this, that we never can be said to have, or 
to be capable of having, the whole of that natural history 
before us. And herein lies a most striking peculiarity of 
the subject itself, which is this, — and it is also an important 
item of this very history, — that, while any one tribe, or 
class, or species of animals have certain permanent and 
abiding instincts which are the laws of their being, and 



LECTURE IX. 227 

determine with certainty all their modes of action, their 
mimic arts, and, so to call it, their domestic economy, — 
their modes of rearing their young, constructing their 
habitation, securing their food, or providing for their 
defence, and so consequently render the accomplishment 
of their natural history a matter of great facility, as well 
as possible accuracy, — and the historian or naturalist who 
recounts it is in little danger of having his delineations or 
descriptions falsified by new freaks of nature among the 
class or tribe, or antiquated by fresh and additional im- 
provements on the modes of these instincts, — it is all the 
contrary in writing the natural history of man. The 
phases even of his corporeal and physical being are so 
varied and multiplied, while each has an equal claim to 
"natural," — that is, to a fixed and designed consistency 
with his nature, — that it is impossible to catch all which 
have been exhibited. And who, after all is done, can be 
sure that there are not still certain undeveloped powers 
and faculties in the human being which may give alto- 
gether a new face to his history, and render the most 
graphic and just descriptions hitherto utterly inadequate 
and at fault, — antiquated histories which are no longer 
true to the more recent exhibitions of his nature ? 

It is true, some might be disposed to call those new 
phenomena of human nature which every now and then 
confound or disturb the theories and speculations of the 
philoso23her, artificial or unnatural displays of character 
arising out of conventional institutions ; but this, again, is 
absurd, for what is the properly natural state of man, — 
that is to say, that state which is as perfectly consistent 
and in harmony with the design and end of his creation as 
we suppose the fixed instincts and unlearned arts of the 
animals to be with theirs ? Shall we say that it is that 
wherein man roves a savage in the woods, ignorant of the 
arts and refinements of civilization ? If this is to be called 



228 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

the natural state of man, with the same propriety of lan- 
guage that such is called the natural state of the lion, the 
tiger, or the buffalo, — that is, because it seems indisputable 
that all the laws of their natures are here most perfectly 
developed and conspicuous, — it will remain with us to 
prove that the arts of civilization do not perfect man, and 
are rather in contradiction to his nature than in favor of it. 
But this is evidently ridiculous, and so consequently we 
are obliged to think, according to all reason and analogy, 
that it is just as natural in man that he should invent and 
exercise the art of spinning and weaving, or even the art 
of writing or of printing, — or other arts yet undiscovered, 
and of which we have at present no idea, — as that any one 
tribe of animals should exercise from age to age the unvary- 
ing functions of their instincts, — that the birds should 
never improve upon their arts of nest-building, nor the bees 
upon the architecture and m.asonry of their hives. But all 
these instinctive natural arts are easily described, and 
when once described remain forever a true copy of nature ; 
but those other arts of man, although no less natural for 
man to discover or to practise, who can recount these ? or 
when will such history of his inventions or the inventor be 
such as to be considered perfect ? 

But I will here start a question, and leave it for you to 
solve, — you may take a week or two, — what is the final 
cause of this progression in the human species? What is 
the reason that all the terrestrial animals are so perfected 
in their instincts, that the laws of their being are so deeply 
written upon their nature, so certain and infallible, as not 
to disappoint them, or lead them wrong ; and that the laws 
designed for man, evidently of a higher order, seem not- 
withstanding less perfectly stamped on his soul, so that, 
although his ends are so much nobler than theirs, he yet 
does less successfully reach them, and is continually com- 
mitting blunders, in the ardor of his pursuit, either from 



LECTURE IX. 229 

defect of light poured upon his mind from those laws, or 
defect of inclination willingly and steadily to follow them? 
It would appear, consequently, that, while man on the 
whole bears upon his mind the traces and vestiges of the 
most sublime and elevated destiny, he was yet the most 
unfinished work of creation. And when you view him in 
the midst of creation, surrounded by all the other works 
of the Creator, he seems to command the loftiest position, 
and to be the very central point of the whole design, for 
towards him all other objects and orders of creation seem 
to tend, as with lines directed to a centre ; but yet this 
main building, this temple of nature, on whose account all 
the other outworks have been constructed and designed, is 
still the most unfinished, although the noblest of them alL 
What is the cause of this? How is it to be explained? 
Is it indeed a fact that nature has here left her chef cCceuvre 
imperfect, or is it a work only now in progress — a newer, 
and again a newer design, and closing perfection and 
beauty being still added, as age succeeds age, as epoch 
rises out of epoch ? And may this be the reason we find it 
so hard to present a true picture of the natural history of 
man, that to this august and venerable temple newer wings 
and ornaments are constantly being added in the lapse of 
generations ? Should this be so, and whether it be or not 
I leave to your judgment, then we have taken a noble 
subject in hand when we have undertaken to write the 
natural history of man ; for no doubt ere twenty years 
more have elapsed, that natural history will be emblazoned 
with some new and original ideas and designs of nature, 
some interesting tracery of her chisel, or some additional 
architrave, to crown and illustrate this work, this temple 
of the universe. 

And indeed, without attempting to solve this enigma, — 
the greatness of the design, and the unfinished state of the 
structure of this work, which we name man, — we may be 

20 



230 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

permitted to point constantly to the fact. And to see this 
fact the more strikingly, and that character of progress and 
change which peculiarly belongs to and distinguishes man, 
it is only necessary to contrast his state as it existed before 
and since the Christian era. It is impossible to tell precisely 
in what the change has consisted, but any one who will 
read together and compare the productions of the human 
mind before and since that period will find that there has 
been a change, not only on the surface, but in the vital 
constitution of society ; it has affected, it has altered nature 
itself in man ; to resume our first simile, this central temple 
of creation has received a new story on the old foundation, 
— or rather, like enchantment, the whole seems new. The 
Christian religion is not a social, artificial system of mere 
opinions or principles, but wears upon it all the marks and 
insignia of a true creation ; it was a spiritual and moral gen- 
esis : " In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was 
God." The tenor of this lecture does not permit me to 
dwell on this suggestion, but I note it only in passing, that 
the event of the Christian religion is the most remarkable 
fact in the natural history of man, and is a part of it, for 
it had a tendency essentially to change that nature, so that 
it became something new. 

Eut what was the condition of the present civilized 
nations of Europe eighteen hundred and forty years 
ago? I know not how better to characterize them than 
to say that they were backwoods; only the Indians who 
lived there were not savages, but such as are called bar- 
barians, — advanced to the state of pasturage, and the first 
stages of husbandry, and the cultivation of some of the 
ruder arts, — acquainted with the use of the metals, and 
holding in subjection to their service and use the more 
common domestic animals : but war was their employment, 
and the exploits of physical strength and dexterity their 
chief distinction. I speak more particularly of Gaul, Ger- 



LECTURE IX. 231 

many, and Britain. The Eomans owned a peculiar civiliza- 
tion, the civilization of taste, and genius, and ho7ior, not the 
civilization of moral principle or of pure religion. The 
worship of the gods was sej)arated from morality; and 
intellect, in general, sought not for new motives to virtue, 
but new sources of elegant gratification. The principle 
which characterized all the nations which existed at this 
time, Eomans as well as others, was the amo7' patriw, or 
the attachment to the tribe or nation. This circumstance 
has not been suflSciently adverted to by modern writers, 
although, when properly considered, it may serve to soften 
and alleviate that picture of war and violence which is 
presented to us in the reading of ancient history. The 
motives which impelled them to the performance of such 
acts partook of the social character, and had on that account 
a slight admixture of virtuous feeling, sufficient to irradiate 
although not to beautify the dark features of their history. 
They killed and plundered, not for themselves, but their tribe. 
And here is the only redeeming trait of their character ; 
in this manner provision was made for keeping alive in 
their minds that seminal principle of all the virtues, a 
regard for the public good, which, when enlightened by 
true knowledge, leads at last to the most beautiful results 
of social virtue and refinement. In the best times of the 
Eoman commonwealth it was seen in its greatest vigor, 
and often led to acts of true magnanimity; but at the 
period of the introduction of the Christian religion it had 
waned in the hearts of the nation, although still the theme 
of poetical exultation, — dulce et decorum est pro patria 
mori. But in the western nations of Europe it still pre- 
served its original purity and strength, particularly among 
the ancient Germans, where it was nourished by a series 
of bold achievements, of which indeed the historical de- 
tails have perished, but the noblest monuments endure in 
those social institutions which have sprung up in Europe 



232 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

and America, and whose professed object is to secure " the 
greatest good of the greatest number." It is to these, 
mainly, we are indebted for that hereditary love of free- 
dom and indei^endence which has distinguished the Anglo- 
Saxon race, that natural stock of just and manly sentiment 
on which the Christian religion has been engrafted, and 
expanded into a truly rational and moral civilization, to 

open here its 

•' choicest bosomed sweets 
Keserved from nighty and kept for thee in store." 

With these views I intend in the present lecture to 
show some of the more striking natural features of this 
race, and the relations in which they have stood both to 
the Christian religion itself, and the institutions of modern 
times. By this means we may be able to see more clearly 
those elements of progress and development which enter 
into the composition of human nature, and the adaptation 
of the Christian religion to cherish and at last to disclose 
these latent germs of humanity. 

In the last lecture we took a rapid view of the different 
races of men, more particularly the Caucasian and the 
Ethiopian, and of the several classes of the former. We 
noticed a remarkable feature in the Ethiopian race, — that, 
for the most part, they should be confined to the African 
peninsula, and should seldom or never have shown any 
desire to wander from that quarter of the globe; that 
they have never abandoned this, their natural home, from 
inclination. Yery different is it with the Caucasian race; 
their propensity to wander, their love of emigration, might 
be remarked as one of the peculiar features of their nat- 
ural character. They seem, accordingly, to be designed by 
nature to become ultimately the universal race; such is 
the instinct of emigration, — the natural love of new loca- 
tion implanted in them. We may trace their progress 
from the central regions of Asia, eastward towards China, 



LECTURE IX. 233 

there to disturb or to displace the more settled tribes of 
the great Mongolian family, a distinct native race of men ; 
and, again, northward, covering the barren and inhospitable 
regions now occupied by the Eussian empire ; southward 
and westward, there to possess themselves of Arabia, and here 
of the most western portion of the ancient continent called 
Europe, — an artificial division of the globe, since there is 
no natural fixed limit to mark it as distinct from Asia. 
This race I showed to be composed of nations of different 
genius : as, the Orientals, made up of Jews, Egyptians, and 
Arabians; the Greeks, with whom might be ranked the 
Romans ; and, again, the Germans, with whom also might 
be classed the Gauls and Britons. 

These classes, again, differ among themselves ; the Greeks 
and Eomans, although nearly related, were still very distinct 
people, as much so (and lines of discrimination were very 
similar) as are the French and Britons in modern times. 
Again, the ancient Germans and Gauls were distinct from 
each other, as well as from the Britons ; and this not only 
in their manners and civil institutions, but also in their 
physical form and aspect. The Britons, then as now (I 
mean as found by the Romans), were composed of several 
distinct races, and presented accordingly a motley character, 
not only in their civil usages, but in their physical features 
and personal appearances. The testimony of Tacitus on 
this point is express: "Who first inhabited Britain," says 
he, " whether strangers or those sprung from the country, 
is a matter of great uncertainty. Their form and aspect 
are various, and hence arises the presumption of the 
great diversity of their origin. Those who inhabit the 
northern part of the island, called Caledonia, have red hair 
and large limbs, and show evident indications of a German 
origin. The Silures, the inhabitants of South Wales, have 
dark complexions, and for the most part curled locks, and 
these characteristics, united with the circumstance of their 

20* 



234 NATUHAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

having occupied the shores opposite to Spain, would indi- 
cate that the Iberians had anciently crossed over, and 
possessed themselves of the country. Those, on the other 
hand, who are opposite to Gaul, resemble the natives of that 
country, and speak the same language : you detect also the 
same sacred rites, the same forms of superstition : they 
discover, moreover, the same rash and impetuous valor in 
attacking their enemies, and the same want of resolution 
in maintaining their ground ; but, however, the Britons 
display much more ferocity in their wars, probably because 
they have not been subdued or softened as yet by the arts 
of Eoman civilization. For at one time also the Gauls were 
a much more valiant people than they are at present; they 
lost their valor at the same time with their freedom, — a fate 
which has also lately befallen a part of the Britons, but the 
rest still retain their ancient ferocity." Such is the picture 
furnished by Tacitus, who wrote about a.d. 90. And the 
hints gathered from his writings, together with notices 
which are found interspersed in the Commentaries of 
Caesar, are nearly all the authentic history we have of these 
nations up to this period. From these accounts, however, 
we are enabled to form a very good idea of their character, 
and can see the rude formations of those distinct and pecu- 
liar nations which have arisen from them. 

But of all these tribes, the most peculiar, and in all respects 
the most like itself, was that of the ancient Germans : these 
are not to be considered as the original stock of the modern 
races of men who at present occuj^y Germany, and probably 
came from regions more northern, and settled the lands 
which the ancient Germans from time to time abandoned 
in their capricious and hasty emigrations. For they appear 
to have possessed hardly any local attachment to the soil, 
but were always ready on a moment's warning, at the 
instance of the slightest caprice or the least prospect of 
advantage, to change their settlements, and occupy new 



LECTURE IX. 235 

countries, which they were again prepared, and for no 
better reasons, as speedily to abandon. Indeed, it appears 
to have been a part of their national policy entirely to 
detach the affections of their tribe from all local or sec- 
tional partialities. Csesar tells us of the Suevi that they 
possessed a hundred cantons, from each of which they drew 
yearly a thousand warriors, and that an equal number re- 
mained at home to cultivate the land, who next year took 
their turn in the war ; that no one among them possessed 
any property of his own in the land, and that they never 
remained longer than a year in one place ; that they lived 
in a great measure on the produce of t"heir flocks and herds, 
and, when not engaged in war, were emj^loyed in hunting, 
which kind of life rendered them exceedingly robust and 
vigorous ; and that the children, being accustomed to no re- 
straints of education, and no opposition to their inclinations, 
were allowed to acquire, in the active exercise of the chase, 
or the frequent emigrations of the nation, that natural hardi- 
hood of body and ferocity of mind which was not less visi- 
ble in the gigantic stature than in the savage aspect which 
characterized the entire nation. Contemplated in this point 
of view merely, we might be very apt to regard them in the 
light of simple, irreclaimable barbarians. 

But there are other aspects of the character presented 
to us by Caesar which enable us to see that even these 
savage forms must have contained the germs of several 
noble virtues. At first we might judge them to be but 
little in advance of our Indian, but further attention shows 
them to have been a very superior order of men. As con- 
trasted with the aborigines of this country, they showed 
uncommon powers of self-denial on those points where the 
virtues of barbarians seem always most liable to temj^tation 
and most easily discredited. Csesar declares that they per- 
mitted traffickers to come among them, not to purchase their 
wares, but to sell them the booty they had taken in war ; 



236 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

and that they prohibited, by the severest ordinances, wine 
from being brought into their coimtrj^, because they con- 
sidered that their valor would be diminished by the use of 
this luxury, and the nation rendered effeminate. Here was 
an exercise of self-denial, undoubtedly, which cannot fail to 
raise them in our estimation, when we know how easy the 
virtue of the noblest barbarian is to be sapped, and finally 
overthrown, by the appetite for this species of indulgence. 
In another respect also their natural character stands 
forth, in a most conspicuous and advantageous light, as con- 
trasted with that of most barbarians. JSTot only Tacitus, 
but even Caesar has testified to the respect and veneration 
in which they held their women, and to the noble virtues 
of continence by which their youth were distinguished. 
The testimony of Tacitus on this subject, although remark- 
ably explicit, I have been sometimes disposed to discredit, 
suspecting that he might be inclined to exaggerate the vir- 
tues of barbarians on this point, to rebuke by the striking 
contrast the abominable and shocking licentiousness which 
in his time began to prevail at Eome and to corrupt and 
destroy the very vitals of the empire. For when the natural 
purity of these principles of our nature begins to be cor- 
rupted, and when the corruption is even made a subject of 
jest and a topic of light allusion, not only is all security for 
the manly character of the individual lost, but the way is 
prepared for the ultimate degradation of the entire nation. 
Aware, therefore, of the stern philosophy of Tacitus, and 
the natural disgust which his great mind must have felt for 
those scenes of domestic infidelity which he daily witnessed 
at Eome, at the very time, perhaps, when he was writing 
his treatise on the manners of the Germans, I had thought 
that he might unconsciously to himself have heightened the 
coloring of that affecting picture of barbarian virtue and 
manly sentiment which he shows to have existed among 
these ancient German tribes. But on comparing the testi- 



LECTURE IX. 237 

mony of Caesar on the same subject, who wrote his Com- 
mentaries about forty-five years before the Christian era, 
and finding it to be substantially to the same effect, I am 
disposed to place the firmest reliance on the statement of 
Tacitus. For Caesar was one of those cool, clear-headed 
men so thoroughly devoted to politics, war, and ambition 
that the delicacy of moral sentiment can never affect them ] 
so far from writing a satire on vice, or recommending the 
pure and exalted virtues, they are intent only how to turn 
both the virtues and vices of men, the weaknesses of the 
human heart, or the excesses of the passions, to the account 
of their own aggrandizement, and make them the stepping- 
stones to their own advancement in power or affluence. 
Caesar was one of this stamp precisely, a polished, elegant 
writer, of captivating manners, it is said, brave on all proper 
occasions, and the last person in the world to be imposed 
upon by romantic accounts of the virtue and honor of bar- 
barians. And yet Caesar has given substantially the same 
account of the Germans which Tacitus has done. He had 
also the opportunity of observing their manners, and of 
becoming intimately acquainted with their character, having 
himself been the first Eoman general who crossed the Ehine 
and displayed the eagles of Eome in the wild forests of 
Germany. Caesar was a soldier, and could not but admire 
those robust and noble forms and proportions which dis- 
tinguished that nation, their youth especially, and he does 
not fail to ascribe their superiority in this respect to its 
true cause, — those virtues of chastity, temperance, and 
unbounded freedom, combined with athletic exercises, for 
which the whole race were pre-eminent.* 

* "Vita omnis in venationibus, atque in studiis rei militaris con- 
sistit : ab parvulis labori ac duritiae student. Qui diutissime impuberes 
permanseruntj maximam inter suos ferunt laudem ; hoc ali staturam, 
ali vires nervosque confirmari putant. Intram annum vero XX 
feminae notitiam habuisse, in turpissimis habent rebus : cujus rei nulla 



238 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

I have taken the more pains to set this matter in a clear 
light, and establish it on solid proof, not only because it is 
an important fact in itself, but because, from the too preva- 
lent practice of exaggerating the virtues of barbarians, 
even those unquestionably great qualities with which they 
are endowed are sometimes liable to be discredited. I am 
not myself, in general, disposed to believe in the boasted 
virtues of barbarians ; I am even doubtful if we should 
apply the name of virtue to those natural qualities for which 
they are most celebrated, which are but the signs and prog- 
nostications of virtue : the virtues are the proper fruits of 
a sacred regard to the grand principles of human and divine 
law, as revealed from heaven, and rationally understood and 
morally loved. Virtue — I mean this natural semblance — is 
not virtue, really and genuinely such, until it is sanctioned 
by religion, beautified by philosophy, and recommended and 
adorned by a warm and universal benevolence. This is 
virtue properly so called, but, nevertheless, there are certain 
wild and spontaneous and vigorous shoots of a healthy 
mind, in a rude state of the individual or the nation, which 
indicate a congenial and kindred stocky on which all those 
virtues which are the proper fruits of religion and civiliza- 
tion can be most advantageously and successfully engrafted. 
And the natural history of man, as a study, is useful chiefly 
for this purpose, that we may be able to discover the true 
criteria of the natural capabilities of great virtues. An 
intimate acquaintance with geology and mineralogy, it is 
said, can enable the adepts in those sciences readily to 
determine, from certain indications altogether superficial, 
w^hether or not valuable treasures of coal or other useful 
products are to be found beneath the surface in any given 
spot ; in like manner, were we thoroughly skilled in this 

est occultatio, quod et promiscue in fluminibus perluuntur, et pellibus 
aut parvis rhenonum tegumentis utuntur, magna corporis parte 
nuda." — Bel. Gal., lib. vi. 21. 



LECTURE IX. 239 

science of human nature which we are now prosecuting, 
we should be able to declare, even from the external tokens 
of savage or barbarian simplicity, whether or not there 
were the latent powers of great virtues contained within 
the race, and what they were. 

The honor and estimation in which their women were 
held by the ancient Germans — and deservedly, too, on the 
score of their own intrinsic virtues, for they were noble 
women — would be the clearest indication, to a philosopher 
skilled in this science, that the nation was sound at the 
core, and, however barbarous in the popular sense of the 
term, required but the aid of favorable circumstances to 
exhibit the most pleasing specimens of every true and 
manly virtue. But let me not be misunderstood ; that 
regard and veneration which the ancient Germans enter- 
tained for their women was altogether distinct from this 
sentiment — silly or romantic as you may choose to consider 
it, either really felt or affected in modern times — which has 
assumed the name of gallantry, and manifests itself in an 
especial deference for ladies. This is, for the most part, a 
compound of mere foppery and childishness, as unmeaning 
as it is effeminate, and a proof of anything rather than 
sincere esteem or affection ; it would appear to have arisen 
from the affectations and absurdities of chivalry, and hence 
to have become a fashion in modern times, but a matter in 
which the heart has very little concern. The feelings of 
the Germans were of a very different kind : their manly 
gallantry (if we must use the term) actually flowed from 
the heart, and was the natural expression of sincere respect. 
They appear to have felt a veneration of their women as 
of superior beings, and, indeed, imagined them to be en- 
dowed with a certain sacred character; and several are 
mentioned as having exercised an extraordinary influence 
over the nation . 

I know not how to account for this, otherwise than from 



240 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

the fact that their women, taking a public part in the trans- 
actions of the tribes, and more openly manifesting their 
feelings than is customary with men, came on that account 
to attract the more attention, or to be considered as super- 
naturally inspired,— a belief which would be readily coun- 
tenanced by the superstition of the age, and the blending 
together of various feelings and emotions; hence their 
opinions were inquired on all important occasions, and 
received with great deference and respect. On one occa- 
sion, we are informed by CsBsar, Ariovistus declined a com- 
bat when the advantages seemed to be very much on his 
side. The matter attracted the attention of Csesar, and 
excited his curiosity, and, on inquiry afterwards, he dis- 
covered that the German matrons had been the cause of it, 
who from their skill in divination, it appears, had predicted 
that the fight would be unfortunate if engaged in before the 
new moon. Such respect did this renowned general pay 
to the supposed prudence or supernatural powers of his 
countrywomen, that he sacrificed his own judgment in 
military affairs to what he believed to be their superior 
skill and penetration. 

Tacitus's account agrees with this : he declares that they 
believed their women to be endowed with certain extraor- 
dinary gifts of divination, and asked their opinion on pub- 
lic affairs with the most respectful deference. Nor do 
they appear to have been unworthy of these marks of honor 
and distinction, for they bore their full share in all public 
dangers and difficulties; and often, in the heat of fight, 
when victory seemed doubtful they have turned the for- 
tune of the day by their heroic interposition, appearing 
suddenly in the midst of the affray, and by their cries 
and entreaties encouraging or compelling their countrymen 
to redouble their efforts to rescue their country from dis- 
grace, and themselves, their children and wives, from the 
horrors of captivity. Under such powerful supplications 



LECTURE IX. 241 

the timid have been rendered brave, and the sight and 
example of such earnest advisers restored the hopes and 
courage even of the most desponding hearts. Accordingly, 
it was the custom of the men to exhibit first their trophies 
of victory to their mothers, their sisters, or their wives ; 
nor were these too faint-hearted to ask to see their honor- 
able wounds, to count the number of them, and to extol 
their valor, according to their measure of daring or expo- 
sure in the fight. And these were the dispensers of renown, 
at the same time also that they were looked upon as the 
guardians of the public weal, — appointed by the gods to 
watch over the sanctity of the household, and to consult 
for the honor, safety, and independence of their tribe. 

You ask me if I consider all this right and deserving of 
approbation, or that women were here engaged in their 
appropriate tasks? I answer yes; it is just as right 
that they should take this interest in the honor of their 
country as the other sex. Of course I do not think that 
women were made for war and battle, and neither do I 
believe that men were ; but since the fashion of the times 
had made it so, and settled it, that war was a necessary 
element of greatness, and that no safety was to be pro- 
cured without it, I argue that it shows a healthful state of 
feeling in other respects that the affections of both sexes 
were equally enlisted in the cause, that there was no di- 
vision in the house or in the state, and that the serious pur- 
suits and objects of the one were also the serious pursuits 
and objects of the other : a far better token at least of a 
natural soundness of mind — I say nothing of the moral 
condition, which was not yet developed in the nation — than 
the mean and detestable habits of the Asiatics, who, having 
reduced their women to slavery, have incurred the penalty 
which they deserved, in being themselves dismantled of 
their couragi3 and manhood, — removed from all natural 
incentives and motives to noble or generous actions. 

21 



242 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

Dux femina facti ; and perhaps there never was any 
great and illustrious enterprise begun and carried through 
when this was not actually, although it might not be visi- 
bly, the case. But what was here done openly and without 
reserve, in an unsophisticated state of nature, among the 
ancient Germans, — that they held it no discredit to be 
impelled forward on danger or daring action at the urgency 
of the more powerful although gentler sex, — is still done, 
although less obviously and visibly, in every sound and 
healthful condition of society ; in which it will be found 
that it is from this source that the affections of men are 
purified and so strengthened, — and enabled to endure all 
those fatigues and exertions which are necessary in the 
accomplishment of any great and useful undertaking. 

You will observe that when I speak in commendation of 
the social state of the ancient G-ermans, I refer not to the 
character of their occupation, but to that equal and just 
share which each sex took in it, — which is a fair token, I 
say, if not of a moral yet of a natural soundness of mind 
and disposition, and natural precedes moral, as moral pre- 
cedes spiritual; and where the natural is radically un- 
sound, or not justly balanced, there is but little hope for 
the strength and brilliancy afterwards of the other two. 
But when in this state of comparative barbarity we find 
that the men and women take an equal and serious inter- 
est in those pursuits, whatever they may be, which engage 
the tribe, it is a cheering and certain augury that when 
the period of a true civilization arrives " the pair" will exist, 
yet in still greater loveliness and perfection ; and, at all 
events, "the house divided against itself" — the one at- 
tracted by the frivolous and gay, the other inclined 
towards the serious and important — will be as rare an 
occurrence in the civilized as it has been in the barbar- 
ous state ; and that mutual affection, founded on mutual 
respect, will be the distinguishing trait which marks the 



LECTURE IX. 243 

union and felicity of the sexes, — the badge of the integrity 
of the tribe and the integrity of the family. And such 
signs of true greatness do we find in the barbarian Ger- 
mans, who have been described to us by Tacitus and 
Caesar, and to whose notices of their character I here refer 
you. And if no such signs or omens are to be found in 
any barbarous nation at present, it would show that its 
future civilization is very distant indeed, or even very 
problematical. Those barbarian women were respected 
and beloved, and showed themselves to be susceptible of 
the feelings of patriotism and magnanimity, not less than 
the private and domestic affections. What a spectacle of 
beautiful sublimity, for the phrase in this instance is not 
contradictory, to find the tenderness of womankind thus 
armed with all the courage and intrepidity of heroism ; 
they hesitated not to rush into the midst of the fight, and 
to encourage their countrymen to renew or persist in the 
struggle, and afterwards to count their wounds, and to 
glory in their valor while they mourned over their suffer- 
ings. Need we be surprised that this nation of men after- 
wards grew to be the conquerors of the world, when 
their infancy was nursed by women of such dignity and 
grandeur of mind as these were, — women whose patriotism 
and serious bent of understanding were fitted to inspire the 
noblest ardor into the bosoms of their children ? But so 
much are we accustomed to claim for modern times exclu- 
sive merit on this point that I may be accused of exaggera- 
tion ; yet the testimony of history is explicit on the subject : 
and to such a point of romance or of truth did they carry 
the sentiment that, Tacitus informs us, among several 
nations it was reckoned improper to contract a second 
engagement : " one life, one body, one husband," was a 
maxim among them : and as there is but one spring-time 
in the year, so ought there to be but one marriage in the 
life of the individual. 



244 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

This may be the extravagance of sentiment, or it may- 
have a foundation in nature (I believe it has) ; but at all 
events this picture of ancient manners has always seemed 
to me the most alluring and beautiful of any, except that 
which Homer has painted in his Odyssey : and in many 
respects there were striking resemblances between the 
ancient Greeks in the heroic ages, and the ancient Grer- 
mans as described by Tacitus : among both you find the 
same natural and unexaggerated respect and veneration 
for the female virtues : the description of Nausicad and 
Arete, in the sixth and seventh books of the Odyssey, is 
unparalleled as a painting of female character and manners 
of the very highest kind, and stands finely contrasted with 
the disgusting features of Asiatic manners on the one hand, 
and the affectations of chivalry on the other. The Greeks, 
in the earlier ages, knew perfectly where the point of 
natural propriety here lay, and they observed it to admi- 
ration ; their respect and esteem was serious, rational, and 
dignified, elevating at once themselves and their sisters and 
wives. But a sad reverse of this picture is very visible in 
the Greeks of succeeding ages ; they were too vain a peo- 
ple at last to know how to appreciate and call forth female 
worth ; the men had too high a veneration for the acute- 
ness of their own understandings to hold in proper respect 
the practical good sense and rapid intuitions of the other 
sex, which are their natural characteristics where they 
have been accustomed to be treated with a serious and 
equal regard. 

Among the western tribes, however, when they advanced 
on the south of Europe in their hostile excursions, and at 
last eff^ected settlements in Gaul and Italy, and took the 
place of the old inhabitants, this original sentiment, which 
I have traced in the nation, was not obliterated ; the women 
continued still to prevail in the council and in war, and to 
sway the minds of their countrymen to newer views and 



LECTURE IX. 245 

enterprises. And it was this same deep-laid sentiment which 
in after ages — a thousand years from the period I have been 
particularly describing — gave birth to knight-errantry and 
all those extravagances of romantic exploit which have 
taken the name of chivalry. This is regarded as a very 
curious exhibition of manners, and the true source of that 
high estimation of the female sex which is claimed for 
modern times ; but I believe this to be a mistake, and that 
these were but the extravagances, or rather the affectations 
and absurdities, which sprung out of a just and natural 
sentiment which had prevailed for ages among this race of 
men, and had exhibited some of its most beautiful and 
interesting features before either knights or troubadours 
were heard of: the tribes (these were chiefly German) which 
in the fifth century of the Christian era overran Graul and 
Italy, and at last sacked Eome itself, were distinguished by 
this noble characteristic. And it has justly been regarded 
as the main cause which led them to embrace so readily, as 
they are known to have done, the Christian religion. We 
know not exactly how far women here led the way; but 
certainly it could be considered no way discreditable, either 
to the faith or the understandings of those rude converts 
from the wilds of G-ermany, if those same women whom 
they so highly venerated, and to whose admonitions they 
often lent a willing ear in the affair of battles and sieges, 
were now also the first often to incline them to embrace 
that mode of faith and worship, that divine revelation of 
pure and invigorating truth, which might seem especially 
designed for a race of people which for a length of ages had 
firmly held the balances of nature, in rendering equal honor 
and serious deference to both the male and the female of the 
human family. 

So remarkable seems the coincidence of the genius of this 
race of people and the essential character of the Christian 
religion that it might not be extravagant to say that they 

21* 



246 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

were expressly made for each other. A noble, vigorous race 
of men had been reared by the equal regard and contri- 
bution of both parents in those secluded retreats of nature, 
to be that " wild olive-tree" of the Gentiles (to which an 
inspired writer alludes) on which might be engrafted this 
true bud and germ of heaven, — in consequence of which 
all its wild and spontaneous offspring was to be rendered 
at once fair and beautiful, and replete with a genuine per- 
fection. And, although a close examination into the history 
of those times might, no doubt, discover many traits of bar- 
barism, and deeds very remote from the true spirit of the 
Christian religion, — for the moral revolution which it occa- 
sions in the tone of national manners is for the most part 
slow and imperceptible, like those changes so often alluded 
to which geology discloses to us, — still there can be no doubt 
there was a certain natural congeniality between the temper 
of those barbarians and the genius of the Christian religion, 
at least much greater than had been* manifested hitherto, 
either in that country in which it had originated, or those 
other more western regions into which it had already spread. 
And, although we cannot positively tell to what extent the 
female sex here led the way, — the female sex, whose under- 
standings are as vigorous as those of the other, and on topics 
of rehgion more discriminating, quick, and susceptive of 
evidence, — we are certain that in one conspicuous instance, 
at all events, a female convert, Clotilda, wife of Clovis, king 
of the Visigoths, was the instrument through whom her 
husband was induced to turn his attention to the Christian 
religion, to embrace the faith, who afterwards led his nation 
to adopt the same creed. 

Such conversions, sudden and by the wholesale, are not to 
be accounted, perhaps, the golden fruits of the Christian re- 
ligion ; but they show at least this much, that the native soil 
of the minds of this people was not unapt or unpropitious, 
but that there was a natural congeniality, an inclination 



LECTURE IX. 247 

towards this religion. The captious Greek did not so receive 
it; the polygamous Asiatic turned instinctively away from 
it ; the haughty Eoman looked too high to see it ; but that- 
simple progeny of the north, albeit rude and uncouth in their 
manners, and but little schooled in letters or philosophy, had 
yet that aptitude in them, or happy disposition of mind, or 
unsophisticated nature, that either Christianity welcomed 
them, or they welcomed Christianity with the greatest affec- 
tion and cordiality. But to what precise combination of 
causes this may be ascribed, I know not : I note it as a 
remarkable fact in the history of man, and consider it as 
deserving much greater attention than it has hitherto re- 
ceived. And indeed, that a religion should have been origi- 
nated in one quarter of the globe, and that its most willing 
adherents should have sprung up in another very remote 
from it, — that among an obscure nation in Palestine, in- 
veterately wedded to polygamy, and the most addicted to 
low vices of all people on the earth, as appears from their 
history (and particularly from the example of Solomon, 
their wisest king), — that among such a people, I say, a 
religion should have begun, and been nursed, through a 
series of ages, under the protection and covering of cere- 
monies and rites, — a religion, too, of all others the most 
adverse in its spirit to that polygamy which the nation 
hugged, and to that narrow and sectarian feeling for which 
they were remarkable, — that such a religion should have 
arisen there, and taken no permanent root, nor could, on ac- 
count of the adverse moral climate ; and yet that a nation so 
remote as this German race, which we have been describing, 
should — unconnected with it apparently so long — be yet 
found in temper, and genius, and native vigor of soul, and 
pureness of mind, the most apt to receive this religion, 
transjjlanted among them, — and that it should have taken 
root in them, and so deeply too, that they have carried it 
with them whithersoever they have wandered or settled, in 



248 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

the old world, or in the new, — seems to me the most astonish- 
ing fact in the natural history of man, and fills me with 
admiration, not less at the extent and magnificence of the 
divine plans, than the slowness and yet certainty with which 
they are accomplished. 

It would appear, then, that religion is a plant which does 
not always thrive best in that country where it has origi- 
nated, and that it is intended for emigration and trans- 
planting, even from its origin ; and moreover that its 
origin may be involved in great obscurity, and yet its 
results may afterwards be exceedingly illustrious. And 
we remark here — we have before adverted to it — that the 
origins of all works truly divine are for the most part hid- 
den in darkness, there is a deep mystery which envelops 
all such beginnings, and the first origins of religions, as 
well as the species and genera of animals and plants, are 
concealed in the mists of antiquity. This has been made 
an objection to them by sceptics, those unhappy men to 
whom doubting is natural,' — probably from the want of an 
extended and far-seeing philosophy, for, would they only 
consider the origins of all divine creations, they would find 
in like manner a thick and impenetrable mist to rest upon 
them ; there seems no time when they have not been. 
And so it is in respect to the only truly divine religion 
which exists : its origin — where was it ? in what epoch of 
time did it first appear ? — where, when f — are the constant 
interrogations. It was in the elements of creation it origi- 
nated ; its rites were local ; its consummation is the Chris- 
tian religion : but its developments have been so slow as to 
be invisible, even sometimes to entire nations. Had the 
Koman or Greek the most distant idea, the faintest surmise, 
that amid the secluded hill-country of Palestine a system 
of divine truth was conceived, and waiting for the fulness 
of time to be discovered and made universally known, 
which should break down all their institutions, scatter all 



LECTURE IX. 249 

the chaff and yet save all the grain of their philosophy, 
make all their virtues more estimable and glorious, and 
unveil — to render more dismal and hideous — all their vices ? 
How little heeded the Greek and Eoman — or knew they, 
in fact — what was in the womb of time ! What ignorance, 
what ominous unconsciousness, in Eome even at the time, 
in regard to that divine event which was to be called " the 
second birth of heaven and earth !" There is no sign, no 
intimation, even in their wisest philosopher, in their most 
gifted poet, of any such occurrence. And yet this event 
was to revolutionize the earth ; the system of divine ideas 
was to effect it. And those tribes and their descendants 
were to be the instruments, — they were already marked 
for that destiny, — who now inhabited the banks of the 
Ehine, the Danube, or the Wolga : they were rude and 
unpromising, — yes, but the seeds of virtue were actually 
sown ; and the even and well-balanced dignity of human 
nature was secured and provided, in the mutual and serious 
respect and deference of the sexes for each other. 

The German matron, even in her rude and temporary 
hut, exposed to cold and famine, and a numerous train of 
physical hardships, but never to insult, or the mockeries 
of artificial gallantry, felt herself a queen ; and with the 
sober air of feminine magnanimity, and the tempered yet 
unremitting ardor of a domestic patriot and citizen, im- 
pressed upon the minds of her children, her healthful boys 
and girls, those lessons of hardihood and natural self-denial 
and patience, which of all things resembled most, — al- 
though wild and ungrafted fruits, — so as to be the types 
of them, the genuine and solid virtues of the Christian 
religion, which at this time was preparing and being 
promulgated in a quite distinct quarter of the globe. And 
truly this rude matron, and her no less rude husband, 
scantily arrayed with the habiliments of art in body or 
mind, yet exhibiting at least the sound natural form of a 



250 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

perfect liouseliold, were far more fitted to welcome the 
news which that religion brought than some polished pair 
of modern days, living in mutual servility, pampering or 
being pam23ered, neither touched nor elevated by noble 
cares, but seeking ever an inglorious ease for themselves 
and for their offspring. But not so that noble pair I see 
in the mirror of Tacitus's narrative of that sterling race : 
they respected themselves as born and devoted to advance 
the prosperity and honor of their tribe ; they had no paltry 
insignificant interests of their own separate from those of 
their nation. And what although their chief pursuit was 
war ! it was not for themselves they fought, but for their 
nation. The social, the patriotic intention, although it 
could not excuse, yet mitigated the wrong, — and made 
such mode of life the means of strengthening and binding 
more firmly the social sympathies, the barbarian good 
will, which reigned in their bosoms. The virtues of civil- 
ized men look too generally to themselves and their own 
private interests ; but not the virtues only, even the vices of 
barbarians, have a more generous and liberal bearing, and 
regard principally the interest and glory of their tribe; 
and individual or domestic selfishness, the most polished 
but certainly not the least dangerous evil of modern so- 
ciety, is in a great measure checked or discouraged ; and 
so, when we take this extended view of the relations of 
their condition, we may see reason to think that it is, after 
all, not so unfavorable to the proper virtues of humanity 
as we might at first suppose. 

When we properly appreciate all these advantages which 
belong to a simple state of society, — what has been called 
the natural state, — -we shall be the less surprised that a 
divine religion was spurned by the corrupt and refined 
nations of Asia, — -where women were slaves, and men 
tyrants, and the even balance of nature overthrown, — and, 
on the contrary, accepted by those who were called north- 



LECTURE IX. 251 

era barbarians. But, in the explanation of the phenome- 
non, we must also in the case of the Gauls (who were 
distinct from the Germans) take into account the fact 
mentioned by Csesar, — that the Gauls were exceedingly ad- 
dicted to superstition or rehgion. This propensity was 
cherished by the institution of Druids, a regular established 
body of priests, which the Germans had not. The instinct 
of religion — which when unenhghtened is called supersti- 
tion — is a trait characteristic of the man-animal, as dis- 
tinguished from the brute ; and the more vivid and lively 
it is in a nation, otherwise enterprising, the higher is their 
rank in the scale ; the fine and lucid fancies of the Irish 
and Highland Scotch, as contrasted with the dull supersti- 
tions of the modern Germans, mark them a superior people. 
A nation that in their rude state have neither ghosts nor 
fairies among them are not to be trusted ; they are at best 
but a few removes from the brute beasts ; they are incapa- 
ble either of arts or religion : neither poetry, nor music, nor 
useful inventions will ever adorn the brows of such a nation 
with the chaplets and wreaths of honor and renown; the 
utmost they are capable of is metaphysics and infidelity. 
But we have the distinct testimony of Csesar respecting the 
Gauls, — tota gens est admodum dedita religionibus : wher- 
ever the wild, native vine grows abundantly in a country, 
we are sure the foreign will thrive ; and the true vine of 
Judea flourished nobly when transplanted in the minds of 
the Gauls. We have the testimony of St. Augustine : when 
Alaric took Eome by storm (a.d. 410), the Eomans, the 
adherents of the old religion, sought refuge in the Christian 
churches, together with the women ; and these sanctuaries, 
says St. Augustine, the barbarians respected ; and the very 
sight of the churches and the symbols of the Christian re- 
ligion afi'ected them so deeply that even in the rage and 
pride of victory their hearts were melted, their minds 
touched with heavenly grace; and they who had come as 



252 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

the destroyers of Eome acknowledged themselves, ere long, 
the obedient children of the Cross. 

It were easy to collect instances, at great length, to illus- 
trate the distinct characters of those remarkable races of 
men which have repeopled the south of Europe, and which 
with various blen dings mixed together in that island of the 
brave and free, the land of our forefathers, ancient Britain. 
Here the German race proper, the Gauls, the Iberians were 
severally combined ; and out of the mixture arose a pecu- 
liar, distinct civilization, which required ages to be devel- 
oped, and which is yet very far from its perfection ; for 
civilization is not put on, but arises out of a people, and 
from those seeds implanted by religion, which are covered 
deep. A factitious civilization was attempted to be put on 
the ancient Britons by the Bomans, and superficially it 
appeared a civilization ; but in subsequent ages so entirely 
did it sink and disappear that, although the Eomans kept 
possession of the island for nearly four hundred years, not 
a trace of their early influence has been left, either on the 
language or the institutions of the country ; for the Latin 
words adopted and naturalized in the language have come 
through a different channel and influence, — namely, the 
church, the courts of law, and, latterly, the study and 
admiration of classical literature. All improvements in 
nations, as well as individuals, must spring up naturally, 
and as it were imperceptibly, from their own peculiar genius 
and temperament: the seeds are sown deej), and lie long 
invisible ; and shoots at last bear the evidences of the moral 
soil and climate in which they appear. But the distinctive 
character of the British nation, and the rise of American 
institutions in the mother land, and all the curious and useful 
lights which the investigation may throw on the natural 
history of man, will better appear as a separate subject of 
discussion and illustration in our next lecture. 



LECTURE X. 253 



LECTURE X. 

MAN OF AMERICA-SPANISH AND 
ENGLISH. 



I HAVE somewhere either read or heard of a tribe of rude 
and unlettered barbarians among whom it is a custom, when 
the king or chief makes a speech to his nation, that each 
individual is required to remember some sentence of it, and 
thus, although no one individual could repeat the whole, yet 
the whole is among them, in unconnected, disjointed parts, 
which the skill of a superior mind might again put together, 
and thus reproduce a perfect copy of the original. The case 
is very similar, in respect to all nations and tribes of men, 
when viewed in relation to that universal voice of nature 
which, as with the tones of superior authority, has addressed 
itself to all of them, while all have been listeners, and re- 
tained each at least some one portion or sentence of that 
grand and constantly repeated lesson which is impressed 
upon them, — fragments of the copy of the entire philosophy 
of nature, — the reflection of a still better and holier light, 
of which nature is but the delegated effulgence. But in 
that speech of nature, which is also divine, there is this 
property besides, that each single sentence of it, while itself 
a fragment, contains also a bud or germ of the whole, as 
every twig, nay, every leaf, of a living plant, every speck, 
even the smallest, contains germs or buds, by which the 

22 



254 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

whole likeness of the perfect plant could be reproduced in 
the genial soil of nature. 

This reflection and similitude will at once instruct and 
console us in regard to the true condition of our species. 
What nation of men, what individual, however wise, can be 
said to possess the w^hole truth on any department of phi- 
losophy, of government, of morals, or religion ? On this last 
sacred subject, how many sects, and how limited and few the 
ideas of each and all of them ! what fragments are they all 
of the round and perfect edifice of Christianity ! what twigs, 
or leaves merely, of that wonderful tree whose foliage, after 
a length of generations, must overspread all mankind ! But 
still, although each may be partial, the whole may be near 
being complete ; and each little part may also have within 
it that vital although undeveloped germ from which, after 
a while, a true likeness of the whole might be reproduced. 
Or it may be the design of nature that certain nations or 
sections of men shall give birth to, and rear to some matu- 
rity, certain valuable sentiments, truths, or practical insti- 
tutions, and afterwards render them, at the appointed time, 
as a contribution of their experience to the general stock of 
human wisdom, when a more enlarged and wider society of 
human beings shall be capable of being formed out of those 
smaller ones which shall have hitherto existed. So far as 
likelihoods would seem to indicate, such might be expected 
to be the destined relation of the new continent to the old : 
wider governments seem here intended to be formed, and to 
have transplanted within them the moral plants of valuable 
institutions and experiences, which have been for ages ma- 
turing themselves in the minds, at least, of the wise and good 
beyond the waters. There are here also the two grand races, 
and nearly similarly related, the Scandinavian and Phoeni- 
cian, — of which I shall say more presently, — and the English 
chiefly of the first, the Spaniard more of the other : and these 
seem destined to share the whole continent between them. 



LECTURE X. 255 

It is on account of this peculiarity of the new world — 
namely, that the tribes which are to govern it have sprung 
from the old — that the history of it is to be sought in the 
old. It is among these where we are to look for those frag- 
ments I have referred to, of a perfect philosophy, — those 
sentences of the universal speech which now we might be 
permitted to hope are designed to be gathered into one, — or 
at least a great many of them brought into intelligible and 
harmonious juxtaposition, so that the sphere of "the human 
mind may become more enlarged, and the bounds of a just 
philanthropy be extended. 

It is by considering those two races, especially the Phoe- 
nician and Scandinavian, as seen under the new circum- 
stances of this continent, and as history or tradition has 
represented them in the old, whether in their rude or civil- 
ized condition, — it is by such contrasts and comparisons 
only that we can arrive at any correct conclusion in regard 
to their natural character, which is the subject of inquiry, 
and also its relation with that of other races. For you will 
observe that, although politics, religion, morals, literature, 
fall under our notice at every turn, we consider them only 
so far as they throw light on the true character of the 
human species, and serve as helps to solve the great problem 
of its destiny. For this reason, I showed in my last lecture 
the character and genius of the ancient G-ermans, a branch 
of the Scandinavian race, and shall still prosecute the sub- 
ject in this, but under other connections, bringing into view, 
namely, this continent, and that other great race, the Phoe- 
nician, with which in Europe their destinies have been 
mingled, and with whom also in this country they are 
likely to become still more intimately blended and iden- 
tified. 

As for other scattered or insulated races of men, whether 
the aborigines of this country, or those others still more 
barbarous to be found in the isles of the Pacific or Southern 



256 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

Ocean, I can only cast a glance at them. I here show you 
specimens of two races, one a J^ew Zealander, the other of 
the Sandwich Islands.* 

The New Zealanders are savages, the inhabitants of the 
Sandwich Islands of milder dispositions. You may regard 
them, if you choose, as defining to our imagination that 
extreme point of absolute barbarism from which the 
Phoenician and Scandinavian races may have originally 
started, although history carries us not so far back. There 
is abundance of mythology, but no positive history, on the 
subject. 

What degree of credit we are to give to those vague 
traditions which we find in the earlier poems of Greece on 
this subject, it is difficult to determine ; but certain it is 
that they point backward to a time and a state of society 
nearly as rude and savage as that in which the Australa- 
sians and Polynesians have been found by modern navi- 
gators ; and there is a slight degree of inconsistency and 
confusion in their descriptions on this topic : at one time 
you find their beautiful and almost inspired poets or vates^ 
aocdot, pointing you to a golden age, long antecedent to our 
present era, when mankind lived in happy abundance, 
when the earth poured forth from her bosom spontaneous 
fertility, and the human soul, that better soil, devoted to a 
nobler order of productions, was no less spontaneously or 
instinctively prolific of all the gentler and kindlier virtues, 
— when no law was needed to regulate or to awaken the 
sense of justice, and no didactic theology was yet taught 
to enkindle the flame of a lively devotion, for it arose 
unbidden, or prompted by a native voice and instinct, at 
the contemplation of the fair and beautiful in nature, and 
the useful and the grand commingling themselves there- 
with, and decorating as with a rich profusion of varied 

* Paintin2:s of these were exhibited to the audience. 



LECTURE X. 257 

ideas the face of creation and the order of the world. 
Such is one side of the picture which the fancies or the 
inspired minds of the G-reek poets present you with, and 
sufficiently delightful and attractive it is, all must allow : 
and they trace downward from this period a successive 
series of degenerations through the ages of silver, brass, 
and iron, as they termed them. 

But in all this there is nothing from which you can infer 
positively what was their ordinary opinion or belief on 
these matters. They are evidently disjointed fragments 
of some grand system of theology or philosophy ; and I 
agree with those who think that such materials and 
broken devices have been brought from the East, where 
the great temple or edifice, of magnificent design, was at 
one time no doubt perfect, and reflected from its lofty and 
august columns the light and beauty of heaven, — a temple 
more magnificent than that of Solomon, although that also 
was built according to a model seen in heaven : but, in a 
milder age, in a more beneficent era, the light under which 
the division of the parts was rendered distinct, was softer, 
and clearer, and mellower, and even, methinks, of a golden 
hue, — rendering all more attractive and divine. Such was 
the exemplar of that better temple, and under a light so ad- 
vantageous was it seen, — the model or plan according to 
which nature itself was built, so perfect and so fair. But 
it is surmised, justly I think, that it was but the fragments 
of this temple, parts and individual devices, that were 
afterwards transported into Greece by the industry of her 
poets and philosophers, and hence it is that, although the 
glimpses of a great design, which we can occasionally 
catch, are striking and full of interest, awakening the most 
lively curiosity, yet it is in vain that we seek a consistent 
whole. Like the " Elgin marbles," which have been rifted 
by the English from the sacred remains of ancient sculp- 
ture in Grreece, and exhibited in the museums of London, 

22* 



258 NATURAL HISTORY OP MAN. 

they awaken glorious ideas of ancient art and designs, but 
do not satisfy or com^^lete them. 

And it is in consequence also of this borrowed character 
of the materials of ancient song and philosophy, in Greece 
and Home, that we find so much inconsistency and con- 
fusion in their pictures of ancient times ; for among these 
same poets, in whom you meet with those glowing descrip- 
tions of the perfection of the first ages of human kind, you 
find again the whole scene of enchantment vanish, and 
man, instead of being the companion and friend of the gods, 
as the golden visions represented him, herding with the 
beasts, his mates and fellows in the wilderness, destitute 
of the arts, addicted to the most savage cruelty, insensible 
to all moral distinctions, gratifying his passions and in- 
stincts without regard to the inclinations of others or any 
obligations of duty, — perhaps a cannibal, — and in some 
instances ignorant of the use of fire. But whether this 
condition in which you now find him cast existed before 
or after the golden age, and when mankind had fallen as 
low as it was possible for them, it will be in vain that you 
attempt to discover. There is here a chasm in their my- 
thology, and the ingenuity of their philosophers has never 
attempted to remove or to conceal it, — a glaring proof of 
their borrowed and imperfect wisdom. But, however, the 
arts of life which afterwards sprung up among them, and 
which served to dispel the gloom and despondency of their 
forlorn condition, they very readily ascribed to the gods, 
and chiefly to the interposition of Prometheus, whom they 
fabled to have made a man of clay, and to have stolen fire 
from heaven wherewith to animate him. From that epoch 
have sprung up and flourished all the arts of artificial 
society, from which even the iron age itself has received a 
polish, and been made to reflect the splendor of a brighter 
era, the light but not the heat of the golden age. 

The two oldest poets of Greece, from whom we have 



LECTURE X. 259 

derived the ideas of the more ancient ages, are Homer 
and Hesiod, who were contemporary, and lived probably 
about nine centuries before the Christian era ; at least, if 
they were not absolutely contemporary, they inhaled the 
same influences, they breathed the same atmosphere of 
sweet and vigorous thoughts, — such as, I know not for 
what reason, awaken feelings in the soul, which seem to 
be asleep at all other times, and look like the slumbers of 
infancy. There is something in the human soul which is 
capable of sympathizing with every condition of human 
life, from the most simple to the most refined; but that 
part of us which is allied to the genius of the early ages is 
more infantile, and on that account always the most agree- 
ably stirred by the songs of those rude times. It is from 
Hesiod we receive the account of the several ages of gold^ 
silver^ brass, and iron, and I would read and translate it if 
it were at all possible for modern language to preserve at 
once the simplicity and dignity of the subject. But I shall 
translate a sentence or two from a different source,* the 
soldier-poet of Greece, — ^schylus, I mean, — who fought at 
Marathon a.c. 490. It is to him we are indebted mainly 
for the story of Prometheus, a mystical representation of 
the origin of the arts ; the features of the whole story are 
religious, and on that account, perhaps, have been the more 
faithfully preserved and transmitted to posterity. Pro- 
metheus thus speaks of himself: 

'* But listen in what wretched plight were men, 
And how I made them, babes in mind before, 
Intelligent, with capabilities 
Of knowledge : . . . 
Eyes, ears had they, but to no purpose saw, 

* In the MS. a blank was left for the Author's own translation. 
The deficiency has been supplied from an excellent translation of 
" Prometheus Bound," in a late number of Blackwood's Magazine. 



260 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

Or heard : but like the misty shapes of dreams, 

All things through all their life disjointedly 

Confounded : nor they knew to make of brick 

Houses to front the sun, nor works of wood : 

Like tiny ants, in underground abodes 

They dwelt, chill in the sunless depths of caves ; 

Of fruitful summer, winter, flowery spring. 

They had no certain sign ; but they pursued 

Without discernment whatsoe'er they did 

Till I explained the risings of the stars, 

And their mysterious settings. I for them 

Invented numbers, highest science this ; 

And also the synthetical array 

Of letters, signs of thought; and memory, 

The mother of the muse, of every art. 

Artificer. I was the first to tame 

And yoke their beasts of burden, by their strength 

To be men's substitutes in greatest toils ; 

I made the steed obedient to the reins 

In chariots, which are luxury's ornament, 

None but myself invented the swift bark, 

The sail-winged chariot of the mariner. 

That lightly skims the ocean. . . . 

. „ . such were my gifts. 
And who can say that he revealed to men. 
Before I did, earth's hidden benefits. 
Brass, iron, silver, gold? None, I am sure, 
That would not make a false and idle vaunt ; 
In one word, learn the whole: whatever arts 
Mankind doth know, Prometheus taught them all." 

Such were the traditions which had reached the age of 
^schylus, of the primeval rudeness of human society ; but 
neither his own observations nor the narratives of travellers 
(so far as we know) could have made him acquainted with 
any such state of savage hfe then existing : even at that 
early period the pure state of nature, as it has been called, 
was but a dream or a far-travelled tradition. But it is one 
of those wonders which the discovery of the New World 



LECTURE X. 261 

has brought to h'ght — and the subsequent peopling of it 
from the Old — that we have been brought nearer, as it 
were, at once to the most rude, as well as the most perfect 
state of human society. Among the aborigines of this con- 
tinent, and especially in Polynesia and Australasia, since 
discovered, has been found that very condition of savage 
life which the fancies or traditions of the Greeks made 
them acquainted with, — a people whom the arts and inven- 
tions of Prometheus have never reached, plunged in the 
most absolute barbarism, — " ancient fables true :" and at the 
same time we may hope, if too much self-congratulation do 
not blind our eyes or relax our exertions, that this new sys- 
tem of confederated republics may realize the visions of 
Plato, and represent all the better features of the common- 
wealth which he supposed to exist only in heaven, "We are 
consequently placed in the best possible circumstances to 
study the history of man, for we have here the first and the 
last pages of that history before us, impressed, as it were, 
with those natural ^^t^res and symbols from which the truth 
has to be disengaged. 

It is in vain that we talk of man in the abstract, or that 
we would discover his character and dispositions in the 
contour or form of his body, the lineaments of his counte- 
nance, or the prominences of his skull ; equally inadequate 
also are those metaphysical speculations which make the 
miyid alone, as it is called, the indication of the man. All 
these afford indeed partial views, glimpses, which are them- 
selves explicable when the true philosophy is known ; but 
it is from his works chiefly, from what he has done, from 
what he does, that man is most truly discovered and ex- 
plained. Other methods of study lead at best to plausible 
conjecture, to problematical truth ; but when you have fol- 
lowed on the track of his actual history, when you have 
pursued him through all his wanderings, from the first rude 
stages of society to the most civilized, — traced the first 



262 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

naked impressions of his footsteps on the wilderness, until 
at last you have arrived at those innumerable traces of art 
and skill which he has imprinted on so many countries, — 
you have certain criteria before you ; you are deciphering 
the true characters of his philosophy, as well as his his- 
tory, — and you may be assured, that every new discovery 
and invention will afford only fresh indications of his 
genius and character, his instincts, reason, and propensities. 
It is on this account that the new world has proved so 
great an acquisition to philosophy, for, by placing man 
under new circumstances, it has brought to light new views 
of his nature, disproved old theories, or confirmed immova- 
bly such as had before a foundation in truth. When we 
consider the subject under this light, it will appear very 
wonderful, and a thing of divine appointment, that this new 
continent was hidden from the knowledge of the old so 
long, or but dimly guessed ; for in the mean time those ideas 
or germs of systems were allowed to be matured and per- 
fected where they originated, until they were fit for trans- 
planting, at which time this New World was discovered, 
and afforded that very soil which was most congenial and 
propitious to their second development, and where they are 
destined to reach the most glorious and useful maturity of 
this their new and more perfect being. I speak not at ran- 
dom. We have been instructed by the voice of experience 
that this continent has been designed b}^ Providence to be 
a theatre for the trial and exhibition of those theories of 
government and society which have long existed in the 
mind as speculations, but had never until now an oppor- 
tunity of fair and impartial probation. It is true there are 
many of these schemes and embryo views on which we can- 
not yet pronounce decisively, because the trial has not yet 
been fairly made, or is jQi in progress or only begun ; but, at 
all events, we have already seen enough to convince us that 
relio-ion and natural knowledg-e will here find their most 



LECTURE X. 263 

convenient and agreeable residence. This is the Delos, this 
is the land which has arisen above the waves to receive the 
twin offspring, religion and philosoj^hy, — the true Aj^ollo 
and Diana, — the sun and the moon of the moral world. 
Only now at last do we begin to see the true bearings of the 
events of the year 1492. The voyage of Columbus excited 
at the time but a childish astonishment, or it awakened only 
dreams of boundless wealth, external splendor, or physical 
enterprise ; but very different are the feelings Avith which 
we now regard it, and the real magnitude of the event 
begins at last to be disclosed to us, for the physical dis- 
covery was but the prophetic emblem of the moral revelation 
which was to be made, the moral system which was to be 
established here. 

And the same fact is discernible in the character of those 
who have emigrated, and made this continent their resi- 
dence. For is it necessary to prove that those who first 
came here brought in their minds the germs of those social 
institutions which have since sprung up and flourished so 
wonderfully ? I maintain that it was the existence of these 
germs in their minds which constituted that instinct of 
emigration which brought them here. They did not know 
why they came ; some supposed that they had come to 
imj)rove their fortunes, others because they were tired of 
home and wished to see nature in a new guise, — like the 
fabled goddess of love, born of the foam of the ocean. The 
attractions and the motives were various, but there was but 
one reason, after all, which impelled them to come, — the 
seeds of those moral institutions lodged in their bosoms, 
which rendered them restless and uneasy, and made some 
think that they wanted more money, and others that they 
wanted more fame, and all that they wanted something, — 
and so they came. There is a gulf stream which often car- 
ries us remote from the point to which we are steering, but 
not to a less secure or safe anchorage ; 



264 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

" There's a Divinity that shapes our ends, 
Kough hew them as we will." 

This is acknowledged to be true in the cases of individuals ; 
is it less so in that of nations ? It is here even still more 
striking. Consider of what a multitude of apparently hete- 
rogeneous elements the social system is here composed, — I 
mean in America, — and yet what unity and simplicity begins 
at last to be visible, and will be constantly becoming more so, 
and you will discover that, although the selfish ends have 
been innumerable and the prejudices exceedingly contradic- 
tory, yet the general direction that has been impressed 
is of the most felicitous character, and reflects, so to speak, 
in beautiful hues, the love and the wisdom of one God. 

I might illustrate this point — namely, the tendency to 
a greater simplicity and unity in the social details — by a 
variety of facts, and the contrasts which would be presented 
between the Old World and the New ; but, avoiding a wide 
survey, let us fix on some convenient indications of the 
general proposition, and I believe such can be found in the 
fact of the greater similarity of language which is observed 
on this continent. I refer not now particularly to that very 
uniform style of accent and pronunciation which prevails 
throughout the United States of North America, which is, 
nevertheless, remarkable, when compared with the motley 
dialects to be found in the different shires of England, and 
certainly is an indication of a greater concentration of the 
social system here, notwithstanding the far larger extent 
of territory, but I omit to say more on this point, and leave 
it to your own reflections. I request your attention to a 
more general fact, and which will illustrate that simplicity 
of the social and national arrangements which is obviously 
designed to characterize this hemisiDhere, and that portion 
of human history to be here enacted. Only two languages 
will be dominant throughout the entire continent, — the 



LECTURE X. 265 

Spanish and the English, and most probably will at last 
supplant all others. This will appear a very important 
circumstance, when we consider that a national language 
is, as it were, the mould in which the mind of a nation is 
cast ; those who speak the same language must always have 
the same mental identity ; it is unavoidable. It is true the 
language itself may expand with the new minds of which 
it becomes at once the encasement and the instrument ; but 
still every language has a certain idiom or genius, originally 
instamped upon it, from which it never can essentially 
depart ; and therefore those who speak the same language 
are thus held together as by a common vinculum. 

Since it is probable, then, that, with the present facilities of 
intercourse, these two languages will ultimately divide the 
entire continent between them, they naturally attract atten- 
tion on themselves, first in respect to the vast extent of ter- 
ritory over which each must at last prevail, and, secondly, 
to their European origin^ — those fountains of thought and 
feeling out of which they have welled ; for thought and 
feeling are the plastic powers of language, as they are also 
the natural indications of races. 

But I observe, first, the great extent of territory over 
which either language must prevail as a characteristic of 
that new civilization, and to present a new aspect of the 
natural history of man. The number of languages spoken 
on the continent of Europe, as every one knows, is very 
great. In Great Britain and Ireland alone there are not 
fewer than four distinct languages spoken, besides a variety 
of provincial dialects, although the English language is now 
the Only one generally written. These distinct languages 
are the remaining badges of the ancient distinct kingdoms 
of England, Wales, Scotland, and Ireland. I give this as a 
specimen of variety on a small and connected empire ; you 
will look over Eurojoe and make your own estimate. I 
hasten to other considerations. 

23 



266 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

This multiplicity and diversity of tongues has commonly 
been considered as an evil. Is it so ? It would be so here ; 
has it been so in Europe ? I think not. It has not been so 
hitherto ; for, although " the confusion of languages" may 
be traced to evil originally, such as hatred and the pre- 
dominance of the selfish passions, by which nations have 
become estranged and no longer understand each other, 
yet, when we look at mankind as they have existed for 
many ages in Europe, we shall find that this diversity of 
tongues has proved as great a protection to them, against 
the ambition and tyranny of each other, as the seas and 
mountains which separate their territories. For, as these 
natural barriers check and limit the progress of foreign 
conquest, they allow those national dialects to be formed 
which afterwards, serving as convenient passwords to those 
of the same community, distinguish their friends from their 
foes, and shield them in other respects. For if an invader 
could not only bring a superior force against a countrj^, but 
had also ready access to the minds of a people through the 
use of a common language, how could either the souls or 
bodies of men be longer safe against the employment of 
force on the one hand, and the influence of persuasion on 
the other ? What sad and monotonous slavery would have 
prevailed everywhere on the continent of Europe ! How 
every beautiful and interesting feature of nationality and 
sectionalism would have been defaced or obliterated ! 
Where would have been then that sweet gentleness and 
beauty of Italian language and Italian mind, as distinguished 
so finely from this vigor and vivacity of the French ? And 
where, on the other hand, had been the masculine power of 
the English, or the majestic and solemn grandeur of the 
German. Or thou, sweet Burns, thou, my countryman ! 
how different had been thy strains, — 

"simple bard, rough at the rustic plough, 
Learning thy tuneful trade from every bough." 



LECTURE X. 267 

Had not Scotland, by dint of her native language as well 
as her Highland mettle, so long held her own against such 
tremendous odds of southern foes, until at last she gave her 
own king to England, where had been the inimitable sim- 
plicity of the Doric speech of Scotland, and the peculiar 
armor of the Scottish mind, which sits so gracefully upon 
it, to say nothing of other dialects, had not this distinction 
of languages been allowed to prevail, — here at least pro- 
ductive of so many advantages. 

But I need hardly dwell on the demonstration of a fact 
so obvious as this, that a national language affords a natural 
protection to the mental and moral liberty of a people. 
Eeneath the green foliage of their own living thoughts 
they can repose securely, and bid defiance to the inroads of 
false sentiment on the one hand, and false philosophy on the 
other. Some specious falsehood, some fine-s]Dun system of 
opinions, which has a show of truth or at least a natural 
attraction in the language in which it is first conceived, 
when translated into another and stripped of its lettering 
and gilding, falls quite harmlessly on the eyes and minds of 
those who may read or hear it. The sentiment and philos- 
ophy of the French revolution would have occasioned much 
wider mischief had it not been necessary for it to undergo 
the ordeal of translation : if the original words of the Mar- 
seilles hymn could have been as perfectly translated into 
the languages as the music could be transfused into the 
minds of other nations, the demon of revolution might have 
roamed unchecked over Europe, and a military despotism 
been established more extensive than that of ancient E-ome. 
Where mankind are not prepared to think rightly, it is at 
least a mitigation of their misfortune that they are allowed 
to think differently. The variety of languages is a pro- 
vision of this kind ; for by this means there are permitted 
to exist several independent centres of thought, and the 
chances for discovering truth are multiplied ] for fewer con- 



268 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

flicting lights enter laterally, — they are prevented by put- 
ting down the shutters of the native language ; and thus, 
if, by good providence, a few scattered rays should come 
from above, whence alone truth cometh, they are allowed 
to converge, as it were, to the focus of the native mind 
undisturbed, and the individual or nation can more quietly 
and certainly read the discovery. It is also permitted, 
before being divulged, to acquire greater force and dis- 
tinctness ; and if it be indeed genuine truth, it can then 
bear translation into every language, and become intelligible 
to all minds. 

This is more especially necessary in regard to moral and 
religious truth, particularly the latter, for, this being so 
much oftener adopted on authority than admitted on con- 
viction or actual intuition, it seems essential to allow any 
breadth at all to such sentiments and opinions, to increase 
as much as possible the natural means of independent 
thinking. Unity here, to be worth anything, must be based 
on variety : different languages are also favorable to this, 
not only as regards the formation of opinions on religion, 
which are not in themselves of so much consequence as that 
building-up of distinct habits and practical forms of good- 
ness and piety, which in those sequestered and separate 
communities, dependent on heaven rather than on each 
other, present undoubtedly the most beautiful and interest- 
ing forms of human life, — the very types of felicitous free- 
dom. The prevalence of one language would seem to break 
down and monotonize these happy scenes of various good. 
It is by means of a distinct language that the idea^ as it has 
been called, of the nation or the individual is preserved ; the 
language is, as it were, the mould in which this ztZeaiscast; 
and when you break the mould the idea is broken at the 
same time. 

Such at least would seem to be the natural conclusion 
when we look at Europe and the past there. And the cause 



LECTURE X. 269 

of this peculiarity in regard to them may be, that they have 
not as yet even any enlightened theory in regard to the 'pub- 
lic good, — the pubhc good of Europe, I mean ; their systems 
are professedly selfish and anti-social, national, — not con- 
tinental ; hence these nations have been delivered over, 
each to its own theory of good, its own ideas, its own 
language. And what has been the consequence, — to the 
]^ew World especially, I mean ? The consequence has been 
that they have each matured, and hence now also repre- 
sent, certain essential traits of good, which, when combined 
in the new order of society here, may at last furnish out a 
very complete and entire whole ; which will require of 
course a more enlarged expression, and find it too, literally 
even, in the more general and extended use of one and the 
same language. 

Such is the theory I would deduce, but, of course, to be 
received with allowance, from the fact of the variety of 
languages in the old continent, and their reduction here to 
but a few, probably, at least, to but two, — English and 
Spanish. We cannot predict the future ; but I direct your 
attention to this phenomenon as one the study of which, in 
connection with other " signs of the times," may lead you 
to anticipate the character of the new era, — the third act 
of the grand drama of human history ; for two acts are 
already past, — that which has preceded and that which 
has followed the Christian era, — and now begins a third. 

Every one of the great nations of the Old World has 
perfected and matured some truth, or showed the con- 
sequences of some general fallacy, — some idol of the tribe 
which had received too ready worship ; all have done some- 
thing, and cast their offerings into the general treasury. It 
will now be for the New World to open that treasury, — to 
take account of stock, and, having done so, to throw nothing 
good away, but to be thankful to the Old World for the 
fruits of their experience and labor. Such seems to be the 

23* 



270 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

great task and duty which now devolves especially on the 
^ew World. She is called upon in particular to separate 
the chaff from the grain, for now has come the crisis — I use 
the term in its original sense — the judgment, — the occasion, 
the season of separation. She is not called upon to adopt 
the prejudices or opinions of any one country or age, but 
whatever may be valuable, and useful, and tried, she is 
bound to receive, and as far as possible to naturalize. For, 
according to the views which have presented themselves, 
and of which two dominant languages form, as it were, the 
prediction and augury, a very broad and extended basis of 
a new social system is here being laid, which is to include 
within it everything that is good and true, and especially 
to guard and protect individual liberty, — the right of every 
man to the free and untrammelled exercise of his own 
thoughts, and, what is only a part of the same thing, the 
free expression of them. When this theory — for such 
actually is the American theory of the social system — has 
also become the practice, all those natural devices of differ- 
ent languages for securing the sovereignty and mental 
independence of States and individuals will have accom- 
plished their end ; and, being no longer useful, will disap- 
pear, and leave one language and one universal spirit of 
social and continental benevolence to take their room ; what 
need of such screens longer when none are disposed to fix 
tyrannously their minds and opinions upon others? 

You perceive we are prophets of good ; it is because we 
say what we wish. But there is another side to the picture ; 
for should ever a political or spiritual tyranny be fastened 
on these States and this people, it would, in consequence of 
the identity of language, be the most galling and oppressive 
that ever w^as established. The uninterrupted flow of one 
language would bear the mighty swell of the tide — of uni- 
form opinion, for that is slavery, truth is freedom — into every 
crevice and nook of the land, with an impetuous and over- 



LECTURE X. 271 

whelming force^ beating down before it every barrier of 
thought, every trace and vestige of independent feeling. It 
would be one vast and monotonous expanse of Chinese 
despotism, from which not even the privacy of our own 
minds could protect us ; the very night would shine as the 
day ; without consolation or refuge of any kind, not even 
the shield or covert of some sweet local and provincial 
language, in which to utter the bitterness of our com- 
plaints in sounds heard but not understood by the ears of 
our courtly masters. The Scotch Highlander, when he can 
sing his Gaelic songs in praise of valiant dukes dead and 
gone, or the Welsh mountaineer, as he chants the deeds of 
the patriot David or the brave Llewellyn, can each, within 
his own language, enjoy a world of his own, and forget for 
a time Queen Yictoria or her taxes ; but it is evident no 
such refuge would be left to the citizens of these States. 
There would be no oasis, no lively spot of green, in that 
Sahara of moral desolation which would be occasioned by 
the loss of mental and spiritual freedom in this continent, 
more especially as such loss could be incurred here only 
from the tyranny of the many, not as heretofore from the 
tyranny of 07ie or the tyranny of the few. 

But it is necessary that we bring now the several points 
which have been referred to under one view, in order that 
we may perceive their relation to the subject. 

They are these : 

I. That the old nations of Europe, made up of the Scan- 
dinavian and Phoenician branches of the Caucasian race, 
unlike their representatives on this continent, are charac- 
terized by divisions and jealousies of old standing, which 
have resulted in distinct governments, often arrayed in 
hostile opposition to each other, distinct usages also, and, 
for the most part, distinct languages. 

II. That the effect of this has been indeed to perpetuate 
disunion, but that at the same time this distinctness, and 



272 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

especially that of language, has been so far fortunate, as it 
has proved an impediment to conquest, and prevented the 
establishment of a general despotism, which has enabled 
each nation to cultivate and improve its own native genius 
and talent, and to contribute its proper share to the com- 
mon good of the species. 

III. That a system has arisen here in many respects the 
reverse of that which has prevailed, distinguished by a 
certain beautiful simplicity, a natural tendency towards 
combination and union, which, while it secures to each 
individual and community all the advantages before attain- 
able by absolutely distinct governments, binds the whole 
in one, not by destroying their individuality, but by in- 
scribing on each the features of the whole, — 

Fades non omnibus una 
Nee diversa tamen, qualis decet esse sororum. 

TV. That the result of this has been a greater enlarge- 
ment and comprehensiveness of mind as respects the indi- 
vidual, while the affections of each cling to a greater variety 
of objects and the ideas are expanded by the community of 
language, while at the same time the practical inculcation 
of freedom on all hands and the conflict of views conciliate 
or compel mutual respect, and to secure to each man the 
exercise of jH'ivate judgment, and all the rights of con- 
science, on condition that he allow the same to others. 

In all these points we perceive a manifest progress, and 
although the advancement is not such — and can it ever be 
such ? — as to secure us against all danger of sliding back 
even into a worse condition, yet it is to be considered a 
positive good, and the more so for that character of sim- 
plicity which belongs to the system and which is an augury 
of yet greater good. 

This portion of the Caucasian race, marked by these new 
features of civilization, I have designated by the names 



LECTURE X. 273 

Scandinavian and Phoenician ; and the brief notice of their 
history should be the more interesting to us now that we 
have seen them in their most advanced stage of progress. 
They appear originally also to have had a common resi- 
dence, somewhere in the central regions of Asia, and to 
have separated at an early period. The Scandinavian 
branch took a more northern route in their progress west- 
ward, following a pastoral life, fond of war, and successful. 
The pure stock were the ancient G-ermans whose manners 
I have described. The other, or the Phoenician branch, 
took early to a sea-faring life, settled on the eastern shores 
of the Mediterranean, by naval skill and commercial enter- 
prise extended their dominions to the south and west, 
settled colonies on the African coast, in Spain, most prob- 
ably also in Gaul and Britain, in which last countries they 
also encountered — and after a separation of many eventful 
centuries — their Scandinavian brethren. But how differ- 
ent at last the manners, the institutions, the religion of 
each ! It is to the Phoenician tribe, I think, that we ought 
to ascribe that degradation of the female sex which Caesar 
speaks of as existing among the G-auls. And to the same 
source also is to be referred, I imagine, the still more 
licentious manners of the Britons, mentioned by the same 
author. Neither of these accounts is consistent with that 
style of manners which prevailed among the G-ermans, at 
least that portraiture of them executed by Tacitus. The 
practice of human sacrifices, also so distinctly referred to 
and described by Csesar as found among the Britons, 
proclaims itself of Phoenician extraction; not to mention 
druidism, which is altogether foreign from the genius of 
northern barbarians, but partakes much of the character 
of the Asiatic castes, from which it seems to me very 
obviously to have been derived. 

In the earliest notices of ancient authors, we find these 
originally fraternal races jostling with each other in the 



274 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

western countries of Europe, and in most instances blend- 
ing in one. But the Scandinavian race, according to our 
standard of estimation, is the much superior of the two, of 
a more intrepid character, encountering at first a rough 
and apparently a more congenial clime, making a bend 
towards the north, described by Herodotus under the name 
of Boudini, by Aristotle under the name of Scythians, and 
at last by Tacitus under the name of Germans, or war-men, 
but in all cases exhibiting the same strong characteristic 
features. Let us hope that the American colonists are 
descended principally from these. For this race seems to 
me to have been always, in the most ancient as well as the 
most recent times, in the first buoyancy, and spring, and 
gay festive purity of ardent juvenescence ; nothing of the 
senility of superstition has ever yet ploughed a furrow on 
its brow, or damped for an hour the youthful freedom of 
its thoughts. It is frank and democratic, resistless, and 
full of the most glowing and sanguine expectations. It is 
protestant, and sees its gods by the vigor of its own imagi- 
nation, and needs neither pictures nor emblems to awaken 
its discreet and generous devotion ; but it is elevated by its 
religion and never depressed ; and needs neither saints nor 
demi-gods, much less expensive or magnificent temples, to 
introduce its naturally pure and elastic thought into the 
interior sanctuaries of nature, — the dwelling of Divinity ; 
but the open field or the wild forest are places sufficiently 
sacred for them, and hymns of religion and liberty have 
arisen from thence, poured from their souls and hps, — con- 
ceptions of their own native bards, — more noble by far 
than were ever imagined or sung in the softer climates of 
Italy or Spain, beneath the canopy of the most superb and 
illustrious architecture : " lucos ac nemora consecrant," 
says Tacitus, "deorumque nominibus appellant secretum 
illud, quod sola reverentia vident :" the woods and the 
groves their fancies and their rites have consecrated, and 



LECTURE X. 275 

with the names of gods do they dignify those objects only, 
or unseen existences, which they contemplate solely with 
the deep reverence of the soul, for no images of the gods 
are presented to their bodily eyes. These are the Scandi- 
navian race, — such the features of character which the God 
of nature has endowed them with ; having advanced west- 
ward, as I have said, with a sweep towards the north, and 
pouring a new and healthful tide of brave and pure blood 
throughout the veins of the whole population of Europe ; 
in after times crossing the Alps, crossing the Pyrenees, 
settling also in Britain. 

Eut I must be true to history : besides the Scandinavian 
race, there is the other, the Phoenician, — bending round 
and embracing Europe, as with a corresponding sweep 
towards the south, and penetrating first into Spain, thence 
into Britain, and lastly into Gaul. But that even this race 
was once vigorous, full of youth, enterprising, and bold, 
there cannot be a doubt ; their navigation and their com- 
merce are sufficient witnesses ; but the worst and worn- 
out remnants of them seem at last to have settled in Gaul 
and Britain, and also in Spain ; they brought with them, 
from the neighborhood of Egypt and Palestine, that sys- 
tem of priestcraft, one of those accretions which attach 
themselves to tribes and countries of men, which are the 
native lands of religion, the homes of mysticism, — a disease 
arising out of that peculiarity of organization. And it is 
also a curious fact in man's history, that superstition and 
gross licentiousness are naturally combined ; they both arise 
equally from the same cause, — from the vicious inability ot 
elevating the mind into the region of pure spiritualism, that 
subtile and abstract religion which, while it bears all the 
aspect of coldness and want of vitality, is nevertheless the 
true and real vestal virgin of the mind. Those meltingairs, 
that southern softness, — what is it, after all, with all its 
powers of soothing, compared with that intrepid and daunt- 



276 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

less religion which is nursed amid the cold and rugged 
mountains of Scotland or of Sweden, among the pure breed 
of Scandinavian men ? But yet I have said that the Phoe- 
nician race, with which to some extent I class the modern 
Spaniard, was at one time not destitute of vigor. Herodotus 
informs us that at an early period they circumnavigated 
Africa ; and there are traditions of their having visited the 
Madeira Islands, perhaps the Azores : conjecture only can 
affirm that they touched, in their navigations, this continent. 
They had the instinct of trading deeply laid in them, a fine 
propensity when regulated by moral principle, but infinitely 
more degrading than the military genius when it is not. It 
has been observed that, wherever a people has been cor- 
rupted by sheer traffic, when they fall they fall forever ; 
they are incapable of redemption : fraud is a cancer which 
is incurable in individuals or nations. The Phoenician race 
became proverbial for this trait, as every one knows, among 
their neighbors : punica fides meant the absence of good 
faith, downright treachery. I am sorry to be obliged to 
trace a considerable portion of the American lineage to this 
stock, but the fact cannot be concealed. 

That the Spaniards in particular are much blended with 
this race is very certain. The Phoenicians had formed ex- 
tensive settlements in the country before the Christian era 
and the Moors were also of the same breed. But there is, 
besides this, the pure Castilian blood, derived from the 
Goths, a powerful and heroic tribe of the Scandinavians. 
Thus the Spaniards are a mixed race, but their excessive 
devotion to an emblematical religion, and their opposition 
to Protestantism, in the philosophical sense, shows that the 
original vigor of the tribe has been dashed with a sprink- 
ling of orientalism. Not that we would brand such a dis- 
position as a mark of absolute inferiority ; but, when a race 
is generally corrupt (and the whole human species itself is 
believed to be in this condition), it will happen, as a matter 



LECTURE X. 277 

of course, that the portion of it which is most inclined to 
the gentler virtues, and disposed to mysticism, will show the 
blight the soonest and the most glaringly, as during the 
prevalence of the winter's cold those plants which are most 
tender and delicate, and tropical and beautiful, are the first 
to droop or to be injured, while the more hardy and less 
attractive often look more vigorous from the encounter, and 
show their stern evergreen more lively than before. The 
Scandinavian are the evergreen of the human tribes, the 
Phoenician and the oriental are the summer plant ; and that 
blight which, from a period too remote to be historically 
traced, has come upon mankind, has made those appear 
worst who might otherwise have stood highest in our esti- 
mation. But the vernal equinox of the grand moral year — 
the mirahilis annus of the ancients — may not be very dis- 
tant, when degraded races may hope to recover their lost 
honor and distinction, and those who are now pre-eminent 
only for the softness of a sensual effeminacy may become 
remarkable for the loveliness and delicacy of their native 
and appropriate virtues. It is at all events a delightful 
anticipation, and I should be reluctant to abandon it — bona 
spe prcelucet in posterum. 



24 



278 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 



LECTURE XI. 

ARTS AND COMMERCE OF THE PHCE- 
NICIANS. 



" O Solon, Solon," said the Egyptian priest (I am now 
translating from the Timseus of Plato), "you Greeks are 
only children ; there is not an old man to be found in 
Greece." Solon was surprised to hear the priest say so, 
but, as he had travelled thither to acquire knowledge, — ■ 
for at that period Egypt was a classical land, and Solon 
then, and Plato himself afterwards, visited the country to 
gain new light and information on the subject of society 
and philosophy, — Solon then pressed the priest farther to 
explain his meaning, for he considered the remark as 
almost derogatory to the honor of his native country. "I 
intend to make no injurious reflections on the Greeks," said 
the priest, "but it is a misfortune, which it was not in 
your power to have hindered, that you should have no 
ancient records among you, but that your history should 
be only of more recent events, so that the Greeks may be 
truly considered children and not mew, in respect to the 
knowledge of antiquity." "How is that?" said Solon. 
" You are not aware then," said the priest, " what catas- 
trophes both of fire and flood have at different times and at 
remote periods extinguished entire nations, nay, races of 
mankind. But from a certain peculiar felicity of climate 
and location, we Egyptians have always escaped, and have 



LECTURE XI. 279 

hence retained among us not only the earlier records of 
our own country, but also the authentic traditions of the 
former distinction and fortune of other nations." 

The curiosity of Solon, says Plato, was roused by the 
information, and he requested the priest to tell him all he 
knew respecting the ancient condition of his country, and 
her renown in arts, in philosophy, or in war. The priest 
then ]3i'oceeded to give an account of the ancient fame of 
Athens, and the extent of her power both by land and sea; 
but that this was before the prevalence of a great flood, 
and other catastrophes which had since that period deso- 
lated the country, and defaced every vestige of her former 
glory ; a few only had escaped the overwhelming calamity, 
and found a refuge on the highest mountains, whence, on 
the subsidence of the waters and the return of the tran- 
quillity of nature, the low land had been repeopled. 

This tradition gives Plato a very fortunate and agreeable 
location for that imagined republic, the form of which he 
has drawn in such fascinating colors, with all the elegance 
and sweetness of his inimitable language. But in his in- 
troduction to the subject, he makes the Egyptian priest 
inform Solon — and no doubt a tradition of this sort had 
reached Plato's times — that there was, at the period when 
this antediluvian Athens was in the height of her glory, a 
power of vast extent and domination, the seat of which 
was fixed in certain islands in the Atlantic Ocean, skirted 
by an immense continent which lay far beyond these. 
This powerful military state, said the priest, the writings 
of the ancients inform us, extended its conquests over most 
of Europe, and was making encroachments on Asia ; and its 
principal residence was in an island situated in a mighty 
ocean beyond the pillars of Hercules, which island was of 
greater extent than Europe and Africa together, and from 
that island there was a passage to other islands and thence 
to a continent opposite to them. For that ocean, said he, 



280 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

is of such immense extent that this sea included within 
the pillars of Hercules is but in comparison with it a pool. 
So formidable had become the invasions of this powerful 
Atlantic people that they threatened the subjugation of the 
whole of Asia as well as of Europe. But at this very crisis, 
O Solon, continued the priest, your city was renowned 
above all others for its valor and military arts. And 
therefore, while all other states were sinking under the 
dominion of this advancing tyranny, they alone single- 
handed opposed the enemy, checked the progress of their 
arms, and rescued the surrounding country from the grasp 
of their ambition. And not contented with this, they 
afterwards led the flower of the republic against their 
insular dominions, — for at that time the Atlantic was navi- 
gable ; but then it was those awful catastrophes occurred 
of which tradition has informed us : earthquakes and 
inundations succeeded each other, for a whole day and 
night, without intermission, during which the Athenian 
army was engulfed in the ocean, and the vast island of 
Atlantis sunk, and never afterwards reappeared ; and such, 
added the priest, has ever since been the condition of navi- 
gation in that ocean, from the shoals and dangers of sub- 
merged islands, that sailors no longer venture to cross it, 
but have abandoned it to the solitary dominion of nature. 

Such is a faithful account of that very interesting but 
obscure tradition which we find in Plato respecting the 
existence of this continent, where we now study his phi- 
losophy, and read his works, and descry that dim twilight 
of Egyptian science, faintly shadowing out many things, 
but distinctly revealing nothing. 

But Plato, as I have said, more anxious to find "a local 
habitation" for his ideal philosophy than to relate true 
history, discovers in this fabled region of the antediluvian 
Athens a most convenient site of his perfect republic. I 
wish I could give you a sketch of this fancied common- 



LECTURE xr. 281 

wealth, but it would occupy too much of our time. I may 
mention, however, that it differs in many most essential 
points from the constitution of this commonwealth, al- 
though in others it approximates wonderfully. A certain 
utalitarianism mixes itself with all the visions of Plato, 
and, although it was impossible for a Grecian to be other- 
wise than fanciful and poetical, yet Plato seems to have 
been so thoroughly aware of the evils that resulted to his 
countrymen from the perversions of mythology, that he was 
for excluding from his commonwealth the writings of most 
of the poets, nor would allow any other ideas of the gods 
to be inculcated but such as should represent them as the 
authors and upholders of the pure moral code, and the 
sterner and more useful virtues of war as well as the quiet 
and unpretending graces of a peaceful civil life. 

Plato's republic is, however, a heterogeneous mixture of 
those elements which he found existing in G-reece and the 
philosophical abstractions or eastern mythologies which he 
had combined with them. It is imposing, and alluring, and 
often sublime ; a beautiful and grand theory, not less agree- 
able to the imagination than the actual view of this govern- 
ment is to the reason. On the whole, when you view the 
republic in Plato's mind and then turn to this which really 
and truly exists, you are forcibly struck that there has been 
a progress within the last three thousand years in the science 
of government, and in the more practical and useful develop 
ments of human nature. In what especially does this 
progress consist? whence its origin? and what may be its 
tendency? These are interesting questions, to which I 
•shall attempt no formal or specific reply, but, to aid the 
solution of them, I shall make some desultory remarks, and 
present, in this and the succeeding lecture, such views as 
have occurred to me. 

But first I would observe that the present situation of 
mankind in respect to government and the general com- 

24* 



282 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

plexion of their social condition is infinitely less romantic 
and alluring than it used to be some twenty or thirty cen- 
turies ago. 'No doubt there may be some considerable illu- 
sion in our estimate of the ancient condition of society on 
this point, and it may be in a great measure true that here 
especially " 'tis distance lends enchantment to the view;" 
but, after all due allowance of this kind, it will still be 
found, I think, that the progress of society latterly has been 
affected by the sacrifice of not a few of the more agreeable 
illusions of the imagination, along with the adoption of the 
more solid and practical truths of reason and experience. 

It is indeed this " sober certainty of waking bliss" which 
makes up the entire charm of modern civilization. In 
regard to this continent, this is strikingly seen in the fact 
that it has hitherto been found impossible, and I suspect 
always will be, to get up anything in the shape of good or 
inspiring poetry on the subject of its early history and first 
settlement; the whole background of events is so closed up 
with stubborn unyielding fact, glaring in the daylight of 
ordinary and secular experience, that imagination finds it 
impossible to invest the subject in any degree with the 
coloring of romance : everybody knows so well how the 
whole came to pass, and how each incident took its place 
and went to compose the actual whole, that it cannot be 
made to appear anything else but what it is. The Pilgrims 
landed on such a spot, on such a year, on such a month, on 
such a day of the month, so many hours and so many 
minutes before sunset ; and then we know precisely what 
kind of people they were : we have their books and their 
letters and their speeches, — all very good, very excellent* 
sense ; they were a positive, determined sort of people, — 
quite headstrong, no doubt conscientious, perhaps much 
better people than the early settlers of Greece, that land of 
philosophy and song : but you cannot make poetry out of 
the Puritans, as you could out of the Greeks ; there is too 



LECTURE XI. 283 

much daylight and reality about them ; they refuse to be 
represented in the hues of romance, and their memories now 
seem as little tolerant of ornament as their persons formerly 
were. 

Why need I dwell on this topic ? it is quite evident to all. 
Look round on every period of the early settlement of this 
country : you find the whole hung with the sober drapery 
of reason, common sense, practical religion, commercial or 
agricultural enterprise, but in vain do you look for the gay 
hues and fascinating decorations of poetry and romance. 

'Now, this very remarkable distinction has had, and will 
continue to have, a singular influence on the whole char- 
acter and destiny of this nation : its origin has no mystery 
in it, no obscurity, no twilight, — no shadows on which the 
spirits of the morn are reflected to the eye of enthusiasm, 
and enchant and elevate the mind. And we will here ven- 
ture the assertion that, had such been the original situation 
of the Greeks and earlier nations, they never would have 
reached that peculiar state of beautiful and interesting 
civilization which distinguished them, and, were it not for 
one grand fact and consideration presently to be mentioned, 
I would also say that this absolutely prosaic and philo- 
sophical origin were a misfortune also to this nation, just 
as it might be regarded as a defect in the education of a 
youth that no part of his childhood had been passed in the 
innocency and sweetness of rural life. The effects of such 
softening influences, even if illusive, are beneficial to the 
individual in the maturity of life ; but the application of the 
comparison I recall as respects this nation, and from the one 
consideration I am now to mention, which is this: in the 
Greek and ancient nations their entire religion was reflected 
to them from the background of their original history, and 
therefore it behooved that all the events of it be enwrapped 
in a sweet and solemn mystery, in order that their enlarge- 
ment and extension and mystification might afford materials 



284 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

ample and glorious enough, on which such divine ideas as 
all religions implicate might be seen and exhibited and 
vividly impressed. With them, therefore, their heaven and 
earth were woven into one continuous tissue. You travel 
backward on their history, and before you are aware of any 
line of transition you find yourself in a land of enchant- 
ment, a region of dreams, wherein Saturn and Jupiter and 
Mars and Neptune and Yenus and Apollo were born, the 
patriarchs of the nation itself, — the fathers of their fathers. 
But it is evident that, if the events of their early settle- 
ment had been as well defined to them as the history of the 
Puritans is to us, they never could have moulded them into 
that form of religion which was in many respects so j^leasing 
while it retained its simplicity, and in some perhaps not 
without use. For a religion such as this, and made up of 
such materials as these, had nevertheless, we may presume, 
from the insemination of true seeds into it from the just 
God, a meaning and a power, and a beneficent sway over 
the future civilization of the people, which resulted in all 
those beautiful forms of just and native art still regarded 
with admiration. 

But a peculiarity in this respect marks the fate of this 
nation ; for those feelings of mystery and devotion which 
are the best elements of human nature, its conservative ele- 
ments, and in which is to be enthroned the admiration of 
all that is good and true, are designed here to be detached 
from place and history, in order to be turned and devoted to 
Christianity, a religion purely divine and spiritual, no longer 
local, but catholic and elevated, — a religion the true source 
of all that is venerable and dear to the rational minds of a 
thinking people : for here it is not the soil, or the air, or 
the rivers, or the seas, that draw the love and the admira- 
tion and the regards of the citizens, so much as those 
benevolent and equal laws, those republican and well- 
balanced constitutions, which from this religion alone have 



LECTURE XT. 285 

derived their entire character — their consistency and power : 
and it is this consideration alone which can exalt the feel- 
ings and purify the passions of this people, and produce that 
new civilization here which will be moral, benevolent, and 
useful, and hence beautiful : and here is the native fountain 
of it ; I can see no other. I have had occasion to show that 
the " amor patriae" among the Eomans was a decidedly local 
attachment : the local attachment in the American nation 
is slight; it is a moral and political attachment chiefly 
which binds them to their country and to each other ; this 
is a remarkable feature of the civilization which is designed 
to prevail here. 

I note, then, the following points as worthy of consider- 
ation, and as exhibiting an interesting contrast : 

I. The RELIGION of the ancients was local and national ; 
it affected the fancy and imagination primarily and in the 
greatest degree, the reason more remotely, and if it touched 
the heart, it may be doubted whether it affected it most to 
good or evil, although most decidedly for good in the ages 
of the greatest simplicity. But it was from this source 
chiefly their civilization flowed, and it was marked by all 
these peculiarities, — it was romantic and delusive, fleeting 
and unsteady, the parent of poetry and the fine arts, and 
the foster-mother of genius and taste. 

II. The RELIGION of the moderns is spiritual and catholic, 
not founded or dependent on local and historical associa- 
tions. Their histories are of matters of fact, and place is to 
them only invested with that natural beauty and grandeur 
felt equally by all hearts alive to the perceptions of wisdom 
and benevolence, — that Divine Presence which fills the 
universe. From this source our civilization flows, and is 
rational and moral, and, if true to itself, will be permanent, 
and in its last perfection will be productive of poetry and 
music and other beautiful arts, but of a totally distinct kind 
from those which at present exist. 



286 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

The second grand feature, next to that of religion, which 
pre-eminently distinguishes modern from ancient civiliza- 
tion, is the assiduous and serious cultivation of the useful 
arts, and the honor which awaits them. By the useful arts 
I mean such as are popularly so considered, not merely such 
as are necessary and indispensable, but such also as add to 
physical comfort, convenience, and enjoyment: but in popu- 
lar estimation, under the class of useful arts are not included 
of course those which are accounted liberal, and which 
administer delight chiefly to the mind through the influence 
of taste and the moral sensibilities. These last appear to 
have existed in greater vigor in earlier times than at pres- 
ent, at least as to their essential ingredients, the beauty 
and sublimity of the conception : perhaps the mechanical 
execution may be superior now. But what music must 
that have been, of which even the bare mention by Homer 
and other earlier poets is so rapturous and sweet as to delight 
us more than even the finest strains of modern times ; and 
what must have been the felicity of design displayed in 
sculpture, those figures embossed on brass or marble, when 
none can read even now a description of them, as that of 
the shield of Achilles, without feelings of the warmest 
enthusiasm. There is not a page of Homer or Yirgil that 
does not supply subjects for the most exquisite paintings, 
and the descriptions particularly of the latter seem to me 
to have been borrowed in many instances from actual 
works of art; his poetry wears upon it the impress of 
sculpture. 

And yet among these people, the Greeks especially, the 
convenient and economical arts seem to have been but little 
appreciated. The palace of Ulysses presents to the imagi- 
nation about as much domestic comfort or convenience as a 
modern barn might supply: the queen, his wife, spun or 
wove above-stairs in a kind of garret room with her ser- 
vants or maids ; and below, Ulysses caroused with his com- 



LECTURE XI. 287 

panions in a large hall, or rather lumber-room. But here, 
amid this rudeness or destitution of domestic convenience 
and elegance, there was nevertheless a certain display of 
magnificence. The arts of design were not unknown, to 
enliven the imagination, to impress the images of religion, 
to touch the heart with true feeling: all the tender, all the 
delicate sentiments of nature had food administered to 
them ; the divine art of song, and the art of language 
mingled with music, which took the soul captive and lapped 
it in Elysium Oh, where, when, is there now such absolute 
forgetfulness of all care, by the interposition of the song or 
the romantic tale ? How dull and prosaic are all our enter- 
tainments ; and even if a work of true genius, whether of 
the hand or voice, be executed, you can easily see that it is 
the mechanism that is admired by the dull spirit of modern 
amateurs, rather than the soul or the feeling therein. 
There is less rapture in the mental enjoyments of modern 
society, but perhaps there may be more benevolence ; un- 
doubtedly there is a milder and apparently a more rational 
spirit and regard for utility : and one large class — all but 
the majority — have obtained much more dignity and 
independence, — I mean that class engaged in the useful or 
economical arts. 

If any one will take an estimate of how many products 
of mechanical art and ingenuity he is possessed of, in his 
house or about his person, which are not necessary to his 
health, although they may be to his comfort or sense of 
elegance, his artificial or acquired tastes, he will be able to 
form some idea of the extent of this department of modern 
civilization and refinement. Perhaps nearly five-sixths of 
all a man considers necessary to him, but which is not so, 
is of this description. If, therefore, the whole number of 
industrious manualists in a community were to be reckoned 
six thousand, five thousand of these would be found to be 
engaged in the practice of the arts which are dignified by 



288 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

the Dame of useful^ but which are not such in any other 
sense than that mankind have agreed to use them ; and that 
those who are employed in the execution of them are pre- 
cluded by this requisition on their labor from engaging in 
acts of mischief, and enabled to procure by the use of their 
hands a comfortable subsistence for which they might other- 
wise have had to depend, in the character of vassals or body 
servants or military freebooters, on the generous bounty of 
a patron, or a master, or a leader. 

It is the extensive introduction of the mechanical and 
economical arts, and the demand for their products, under 
the idea of imaginary necessaries of life, that has laid the 
foundation of the respectability, and elevated to such a 
pitch of true nobleness, the character of this very large class 
of mankind, who could indeed have been otherwise sup- 
ported, and even in idleness^ but only by the sacrifice of their 
honor and freedom to the owners of the soil or the possessors 
of political or other authority and influence. Thus also 
have been developed the arts and love of peace, by which 
alone such ingenuity and industry can be fostered ; and the 
disposition to war has been checked and in a great measure 
restrained. J^evertheless, these useful and economical arts 
wear an exceedingly sober and, as it were, anti-sentimental 
aspect. The Greeks not unfrequently express their disap- 
probation and abhorrence of them. All the necessary and 
liberal arts they abundantly praised and admired, such as 
those of agriculture on the one hand, or sculpture and paint- 
ing on the other : and modern times still retain something 
of this species of repugnance ; and it is in fact the assiduous 
cultivation of these arts in America that renders the tone 
of society often unpleasant to aristocratic tourists from the 
old world : but philosophy cannot condescend to enlist itself 
on the side of national prejudices either for or against such 
pursuits. 

It is certainly absurd to hear the epithet useful applied 



LECTURE XI. 289 

exclusively to those mechanical arts four-fifths of which at 
least are not even necessary, while entire nations have suc- 
ceeded in living very virtuously and usefully without even 
a knowledge of their existence. I say it is ridiculous to 
apply the term useful exclusively to such occupations, and 
consider such pursuits as those of literature, science, or 
theology as something different, not useful, but merely 
elegant or ornamental^ indeed, and neither the students nor 
the teachers of them to be as well deserving of reward as 
other men. I say johilosophy must condemn this as irra- 
tional, but at the same time she must be allowed to rejoice 
in the astonishing expansion of the mechanical and eco- 
nomical arts of the present era, as at once the best securities 
and the surest tokens of the freedom and dignity designed 
for so large a portion of the human race. And although it 
must be allowed that an exclusive devotion to these as well 
as to any other object of pursuit must contract the mind, 
yet who cannot see here again, in the rational and pure 
indulgence of the generous glow of elevated sentiment 
inspired by the Christian religion, the proper counteraction 
to all that narrowness of spirit which the Greek and Eoman 
dreaded so much, and for which their religions afforded but 
little remedy ? 

I note, then, as the second grand characteristic of the 
modern or new civilization, the extended and active culti- 
vation of those arts which are strictly mechanical and eco- 
nomical, useful but not absolutely necessary ; and I deduce 
the following advantages from them : 

Firsts that they secure the individual and personal inde- 
pendence of the workmen, and teach them to look to their 
own hands and minds, and God, for their freedom and dis- 
tinction and support. Secondly, that they diminish the 
natural disposition to war, and foster the spirit of peace. 
Thirdly^ that, by the implantation of the seeds of Chris- 
tianity in such firm ground, and well improved, the human 

25 



290 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

character is exalted ; and he who would otherwise be, and 
indeed was in Greece and Eome, a drudge or dependent, 
becomes or can become a philosopher and a sage. Fourthly, 
I see in this the best security, as I have also seen the 
rise, of a true republican character and a republican 
country. 

For the present, I shall take no more particular notice of 
these distinctive features of the natural state of man, as it 
exists at present, and as it existed twenty centuries ago. 
For I am now desirous in the remainder of this lecture, 
since such is the importance of the arts and such the illus- 
tration they cast upon our subject, to attend further to their 
origin, and inquire among what people they have arisen, to 
view especially their rise among the Phoenicians ; the natural 
history of which race I am extremely anxious to bring to 
its close, with a glance at that of the Greek and Eoman in 
this lecture. 

But first I would note, and here I believe I but recall an 
observation I before made in a previous lecture, that all the 
arts are just as much a part of man, and belonging also to 
his natural history, as the instincts of animals to theirs. 
Eut a remarkable distinction of man lies in this, that, while 
in the animals their arts are born with them, in the full 
gloss of perfection, inscribed very perfectly and graphically 
on the animal soul, there being no new editions or improve- 
ments ever to be made, in man, on the contrary, only the 
aptitude and predisposition to the arts is innate : he has 
learned nothing at the time of his birth, but is to learn 
seemingly everything ; he is hence capable of consciously 
understanding all he does, and there is a progress in him 
from darkness to light, and in the species, too, not less than 
in the individual. And this wonderful character is visible 
also in his body : there is in it, particularly in his hands, an 
aptitude for all arts, but an exclusive confinement to no one 
in particular ; his hands are not tools, but instruments to 



LECTURE XI. 291 

make tools. In the animals you observe it is different ; the 
anterior extremities of the mole, for instance, are used as 
a pick-axe and shovel, while the hinder serve to remove 
the accumulated dirt ; but then these extremities or hands 
are fitted only for this office, not for others ; it makes but a 
poor figure above ground. Again, the arched neck and the 
webbed feet of the swan or the duck, excellently adapted 
for swimming, are rather an impediment than otherwise to 
progression on land. In short, the bodies of animals have 
natural machinery or tools attached to them, and these the 
very images and signs of their full-fledged instincts, giving 
an exclusive and confined character to each species. Man 
with his reason and hand stands diseno-ao-ed from all this 
exclusiveness and specialty ; and none can tell those natural 
arts which he is to put forth until he has made an essay of 
his powers, and opportunity or necessity either invites or 
urges him to call into being those devices and inventions of 
which the germs and aptitudes have lain treasured up within 
him. Who could think that in that naked biped, wandering 
melancholy and forlorn amid the woods, apparently the 
neglected outcast of nature, there were yet concealed such 
capabilities of divine excellence? From such a being as 
that was to spring up that family of enterprising navigators, 
the Phoenician race, — or the other family of sculptors and 
poets, the Greek race. 

But let me first take up this Phoenician, and see what 
singular arts and im]3rovements sprung from him. To him, 
I need not tell you, the perfection of the economical art of 
dyeing is due : the Tyrian purple is proverbial ; and that 
is said to have been such that even modern art cannot now 
reach it. This is a trifling instance, but it shows an origin 
among this people of that species of the economical arts 
whose profusion we consider the glory of the present times, 
and the established means, on which account the philoso^Dher 
will consider them principally useful, whereby the inde- 



292 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

peiidence, and freedom, and enlightenment of so large a 
class of people is secured. 

Of what real value is it, you say, to mankind, whether 
their garments have a bright, a yellow, or a dun tint, or 
whether that be fading or permanent, so long as the fabric 
holds together ? I say it is of no indispensable value or use 
at all under this light ; and, if art had no other use than 
this, I would disdain to trace it to its source; philosophy 
spurns the mere trappings of vanity and ostentation. But 
we discover in it something better than this : we see in that 
natural passion of the human soul for splendid or elegant 
dress an incitement which rouses from their slumbers the 
faculties of human invention, and in the institution of 
mechanical arts secures the personal and individual depend- 
ence of men on one another; for true and rational freedom 
consists in this, that my skill is necessary to your gratifi- 
cation, and thus the natural love of ostentation in A becomes 
the very ground of his respect and deference to the superior 
manual dexterity of B. The rise of the economical arts 
in Tyre was the rise of those useful arts, or beautiful me- 
chanical works, on which repose at least one of the pillars 
which support the dome of American freedom. As the 
foundations of a continent are laid deep, and are early begun 
and long in building, so we see the very means of a nation's 
distinction and happiness long in preparing, before even its 
very existence is in the slightest degree foreseen. We are 
not far from home, then, when in Phoenicia : for her turn 
of mind and bent of character in her better days was not 
very different from our own. 

The Phoenicians circumnavigated Africa in the reign of 
Necho, king of Egypt. This fact Herodotus learned from 
the priests of Egypt when he visited that country 480 
years before Christ. You will find this event generally 
treated as a fable by historians, and Irving, who has col- 
lected a great many other traditions respecting the voyages 



LECTURE XI. 293 

of the ancients, does not even mention it. But Herodotus 
is good authority, and hy no means disposed to fabricate 
materials for his history; he may always be relied upon 
when he states what he saw or heard. There is no doubt, 
therefore, that he received from the priests of Egypt the 
account he has transmitted to us of the circumnavigation 
of Africa; it is indeed possible they may have deceived 
him, but one circumstance which he relates in the narra- 
tive of the priests, as of doubtful credit, proves to us the 
veracity of the narrators. He mentions that the expedi- 
tion took u-p two years, and in the autumn, when they had 
advanced far to the south, they landed on the coast, tilled 
a portion of the land, and waited for the return of the 
crop ; and that afterwards, in pursuing the voyage home- 
ward, the sun appeared northward of them, on the right 
hand, and that they returned by the Straits of Gibraltar, 
— the pillars of Hercules. This circumstance of the sun 
being seen on their right, must have occurred by their 
being beyond the southern tropic. Herodotus, however, 
did not discredit the account he received of the expedition, 
but only this particular circumstance in it ; which proves 
to be the very incident in the narrative which should 
establish the truth of it in modern times. 

This one authenticated fact, then, speaks more than vol- 
umes could have done of the daring and enterprise of the 
Phoenicians. And from that period down to the year 1497 
such navigation was not successfully attempted ; nay, even 
doubt" and suspicion were thrown over the whole transac- 
tion ; still, however, a certain faint hojDe and probability 
of the circumnavigation of Africa seems to have been 
entertained. And it was probably this which at last led 
to the accomplishment or renewal of the enterprise by the 
Portuguese in 1496, — a very considerable interval of time ; 
but so long, perhaps, was it necessary to prepare mankind 
for that new era of improvement w^hich Avas then ushered 



294 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

in. As some philosophers have supposed that the bent of 
each man's mind is determined by certain events of his 
infancy, the faint recollections of which affect his future 
career ; so it may be in the history of mankind, certain 
occurrences in ages too remote for authentic history may 
be the causes afterwards which impel men to the greatest 
enterprises of similar character. 

The possibility of circumnavigating Africa after it was 
once effected, although previously in a great measure 
disbelieved, was liever positively denied. Yery similar was 
it in regard to America : there is no historical document 
to show that such continent had ever been before visited; 
yet faint and obscure surmises were long afloat in the 
minds of men on that subject. But it is very much in 
regard to such things as it is in respect to a point of still 
greater interest to the human family : the fact of the 
Christian revelation rests on the possibility of an inter- 
course of human minds with unseen intelligences ; and yet 
this possibility, never doubted at one period of the world, 
but taken as a familiar and indisputable truth, is now 
neither believed nor disbelieved ; it is an obscure tradition 
in the minds of most persons, but no longer a practical and 
lucid conviction. 

But the circumnavigation of Africa is not the only 
benefit for which we are indebted to the Phoenicians, for, 
inasmuch as it gave the first early impulse to discovery, 
we maintain that this new world is very considerably 
beholden to them even in this respect. But this is not the 
whole extent of our obligations to them : they are also 
justly considered to have been the inventors of alphabetic 
writing ; Lucan has so represented it. 

If this be so, the benefit of commerce to the world is now 
signalized by this more than by any other discovery or 
invention. And if you will reflect upon it, you may see 
reason to conclude that this invention should have sprung 



LECTURE XI. 295 

up among a commercial people, rather than any other. It 
is true, the natural desire of being known to posterity, and 
of having their great or good acts emblazoned in the 
memories of after ages, might incite mankind to the in- 
vention of various contrivances by which that might be 
effected, such as monuments of brick or stone or earth, 
and paintings or sculptures representing the particulars of 
events desired to be remembered ; but yet all this is not a 
matter of prime necessity, and there is no strong present 
motive urging to the accomplishment of it : and even this 
provision for the remembrance of themselves by posterity 
has a feeling of benevolence in it, which is not likely to 
have much influence on the selfishness of mankind, amid 
other matters of pressing necessity. We would conclude, 
then, that the art of writing was not very likely to spring 
from such a feeble origin ; it had some stronger reason, 
some more present motive for its invention, and that we 
can readily see in commerce. 

The distant voyages of the Phoenicians, the complica- 
tions of their traffic with foreign countries and among 
themselves, would soon call for a more expeditious, certain, 
and practical method of recording their transactions, and 
transmitting them, than hieroglyphics afforded. These an- 
swered admirably well for theology, where the imagination, 
or heart, was designed to be moved or enhghtened; but 
the business of merchants has very little to do with these 
and requires chiefly accuracy, distinctness, and absolute 
security against error, in its ordinary and recorded details. 
Here, then, as in all other cases, " necessity was the mother 
of invention." It was this which sharpened the genius of 
the Phoenician, and produced for himself an immediate in- 
strument of communication with others, in the adoption 
of alphabetic writing, and for after ages the imperishable 
medium of transmitting to posterity the most positive and 
just information regarding the actions and thoughts of men. 



296 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

Mankind for the most part, we may say always, look at 
that which is immediate, and the source of instant and pal- 
pable gratification ; but at the same time there is another 
power employed in rendering all such measures subservient 
to its own eternal designs. The Divine Providence always 
respects that which is eternal ; and here, in the ordinary 
and quiet pursuits of commerce, among this plodding but 
at the same time great-minded people, you see an invention 
spring up, its extensive uses unknown to them, and in- 
tended only for commercial convenience ; which was never- 
theless designed to be the medium of conveying to the raost 
distant ages, and to a continent perhaps not yet visited by 
men, not only the results of human experience in arts, in 
government, and in morals, but even the revealed docu- 
ments themselves of that divine religion whose value is not 
yet even the millionth part known or appreciated by man ; 
and yet what a change has it already produced on the face 
of the world ! 

This is one of those curious and interesting relations of 
events which discover themselves to us at -every turn in 
studying carefully the natural history of our species ; the 
corresponding or correlative parts of a magnificent design 
showing themselves at intervals, often many thousand years 
apart, or with half the globe intervening. And, indeed, who 
that reflects upon it can doubt that the globe itself is ren- 
dered productive of various fruits and treasures at distant 
localities, that so the human mind might be incited to action 
and friendly intercourse, that the chain which binds the 
nations into one, in the bands of friendship and mutual 
respect, should be composed and woven out of those various 
materials of use of which the globe is prolific. See the 
Tyrian, three thousand years ago, unfurling his sails and 
plying his oars, and visiting every harbor of the Mediter- 
ranean, and venturing even beyond the straits, on unknown 
and unploughed seas, and bringing home from all those 



LECTURE XI. 297 

parts the novelties and rarities of their climate and soil ; 
and not only this, but, what is of infinitely more worth as 
regards the progress and expansion of the minds of the 
species, his soul fraught with new impressions, replete with 
thoughts of fresh enterprise, or connected in bands of firmer 
sympathy with the wider brotherhood of his race. Eeflect 
on these remote, these almost unknown or forgotten trans- 
actions, and 3'ou will see how the formation of a far wider 
republic of mankind than we have yet seen, approached, 
indeed, in some degree in our own, has been in the view of 
nature from the earliest ages. 

There is a plan as certainly laid here for the ultimate 
perfection of mankind, and their full moral growth, although 
of infinite extent, as that miniature design we see pursued 
for the physical and moral expansion of the individual, 
according to which those brawny arms and stalwart limbs 
that distinguish the full-grown man are first moulded 
in tiny forms in his mother's womb ; and that mind at 
last illuminated by the rays of science, and hallowed by 
the light of religion, has at first much to do to discern 
day from night, or to mark the grossest distinctions of 
objects. 

" The noble art from Cadmus took its rise," — the art of 
writing. It was justly that men in ancient times ascribed 
all their inventions to divine power, for the end of these is 
actually so designed ; but, nevertheless, we cannot err much 
in ascribing the immediate sensible invention of them by 
men to that form of necessity of which I have spoken ; not 
a gentle or slight necessity, but a very urgent one, such as 
that I have shown the complications of commerce to be in 
this instance. 

The Egyptians were devoted entirely to agriculture ; and 
the priests were an established caste; they rather shunned 
the contact of strangers, than sought it ; hence the repose 
of all their institutions. A dull, heavy fog seems to hang 



298 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

over the valley of the ]!^ile, even from the earliest ages, to 
shroud their mysteries, — to shut them out from the vision 
of the world ; here, therefore, is the indistinct hieroglyphic, 
the heavy architecture, magnificence without taste, expense 
without elegance, power without activity. In such an 
atmosphere the origins of arts, in their most rude and 
chaotic elements, may be supposed to have existed ; and, 
indeed, Herodotus says that geometry sprung up in this 
country, from the necessity of restoring the old landmarks 
which the annual overflowing of the Nile constantly oblit- 
erated. Eut neither geometry nor hieroglyphics — the first 
rude attempt at writing — could receive the necessary modi- 
fication or real perfection among such a people. They were 
too much shut out from intercourse with the rest of man- 
kind ; they were too much addicted to a national vanity 
and conceit : it needed a people of nimbler hands, and clearer 
heads, and readier movements, a people whose wits were 
sharpened by commerce and their prejudices dispelled by 
frequent contact and collisions with their neighbors, to 
devise improvements, to shake oflf that overweening rever- 
ence for antiquity which is the great bar to discovery, 
and to inspire that becoming self-confidence which is per- 
haps necessary to prompt to useful inventions and salutary 
improvements. 

There is perhaps, therefore, as little reason to wonder that 
the Phoenicians (when such was their character) should 
have made the great transition from hieroglyphic to 
alphabetic writing — the idea of writing itself having been 
already suggested — as that the present commercial people 
of New England, also devoted to a sea-life and visiting all 
parts of the world, should have such a turn, if not for in- 
venting, at least for improving. They and the English 
occupy nearly the same relation to certain other parts of 
the world at present which the Phoenicians did to certain of 
their neighbors in ancient times. And it will, on impartial 



LECTURE XI. 299 

examination, be found that this entire race in modern times 
have been by no means so remarkable for invention and 
original discovery as for the suggestion and adoption of 
improvements. They have what are called practical under- 
standings, a happy knack of turning everything to their 
own advantage, whether in the way of reputation or the 
acquisition of wealth ; and this arises from their ready wit, 
sharpened by their extensive commerce ; they are what 
IN'apoleon correctly, although invidiously, designated a 
na.tion of shop-keepers. But these popular slurs are not 
the language which philosophy would adopt ; she, on the 
contrary, regards the genius and pursuit of every people 
with the same beneficent and friendly concern, and she sees 
in the situation of that intrepid and enterprising peoj)le, as 
well as of their brethren on this side of the Atlantic, — the 
population of New England, — those circumstances and pur- 
suits which are favorable to clear-sightedness and the dis- 
persion of prejudices ; and which, conducting therefore to 
that species of merit which is second only to that which is 
noblest and most divine, leads them directly to improve and 
Si]:)])lj discoveries, to devise the methods of applications, which 
to the general eye is itself more than the discovery. But 
in the continental mind of Europe, especialty in Germany, 
there is more of that quiet, serene reflection which always 
first receives the truth from heaven, but frequently in such 
a shape and form that it cannot be used. 

You have a good instance of this relation of the English 
mind to those of other nations in the case of Newton in 
respect to Kepler and G-alileo. Kej^ler and Galileo were 
the real discoverers; rather Kepler, dreaming about the 
mystery of numbers, until he actually discovered that law, 
the square of the periodic times as the cubes of the distances 
of the planets from the sun, which was the real key whereby 
Newton afterwards unlocked the palace of nature. Such 
were his powers of combination, his vigorous clear-headed- 



300 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

ness ; but yet there is a coldness about his character (not- 
withstanding he was a good man) which you do not find 
either in Gralileo or Kepler. 

But in following out these illustrations, have I forgot the 
commerce of the Phoenicians ? I have not ; but rather the 
fact that the natural productions of different regions are 
various (which is the true basis of commerce, the civilizer 
and enlightener of men) reminds me of this other analogous 
truth, that genius also and the mental products of nations 
are different ; and that while to one people it is given to 
originate, to another is assigned the tasli of improvement 
and application, which indeed is also invention, although 
not so properly discovery. And the art of alphabetic 
writing, which arose naturally, perhaps necessarily, out of 
the situation and circumstances of the Phoenicians, was in- 
deed a wonderful invention, but flowed in a certain measure 
from the hieroglyphics before used ; but yet the step was 
an immense one, for it gave decision and accuracy where 
obscurity and indistinctness before reigned. And it was not 
till at least three thousand years after that period that the 
art of printing began in GJ-ermany,— a comparatively modern 
step of this grand art of embodying and transferring 
thought, by which means chiefly it is that ancient history 
has been secured to us, and that we are now enabled from 
relics of former generations to collect these items and notices 
of the natural progress of our species, to have a part, a little 
part, of that immense design by which the whole family of 
mankind is being carried forward to an unknown point of 
glorious and beneficent perfection. 

It is a sad thing to trace the degeneracy of this great 
Phoenician race ; and, as I adverted to it enough in a former 
lecture, I maybe allowed now to pursue the pleasanter task 
of recording the fresh and blooming glories of its youth. 
The circumnavigation of Africa I place first as a matter of 
absolute certainty; the invention of alphabetic writing 



LECTURE XI. 301 

next, as of great traditional probabilit}^, and the natural 
offspring of their genius so employed. 

But those arts of peace which they seem to have cul- 
tivated from the earliest times, and the example they set 
to the nations of a useful and yet inoffensive activity, were 
not the least of the benefits which they conferred on man- 
kind. Homer frequently speaks of them as distinguished 
by their wealth and their arts in his time ; and when Herod- 
otus visited their city in the year B.C. 400, to inquire con- 
cerning the worship of Hercules, he found a temple had 
been erected in honor of that hero, which had stood, accord- 
ing to the information he received, two thousand three 
hundred years. 

It is interesting to follow him in his tour through that 
country ; himself a Grecian, from a country which was then 
in her prime of youth, elastic, joyous, with a language more 
beautiful than it ever afterwards appeared ; for, although 
it became more mature and vigorous in the hands of Plato 
and Demosthenes, yet it was never again so youthfully 
graceful as exhibited in Herodotus, — the perfect and en- 
chanting body of the G-recian mind, comely, athletic, unaf- 
fectedly natural. And such also was then the nation of 
Greece when Herodotus visited Phoenicia and Egypt. They 
were then to Herodotus the old country; and, indeed, all 
the particulars he relates regarding their existing state 
impress you with a feeling of decay ; their people and their 
constitutions were worn out. Youthful Greece had just 
entered on her grand career ; the battle of Marathon had 
made her power to be felt and dreaded to the very centre 
of Asia; and it was about ten or twenty years after that 
battle that Herodotus began his travels. Yet more than 
one hundred years after this, we find Xenophon, the disciple 
of Socrates, expressing his admiration of the Phoenicians, 
but chiefly for their admirable prudence and skill in navi- 
gation. Xenophon was a great lover of method and order 

26 



302 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

in his affairs, and, in recommending the observation of this 
virtue to others, he gives, as an example of the most perfect 
order and arrangement, a Phoenician galley, where there 
was a place for everything, and everything in its place, and 
no place which was not filled. Nautical order and neatness 
were conspicuous everywhere. But, alas 1 these virtues of 
economy and prudence and skill could not save them, could 
not preserve them from that fate that was marked out for 
them, surrounded, as they were, by states and nations in- 
spired by military enthusiasm, and whose code of honor 
taught them that it was more becoming their natural station 
to despoil their neighbors of their wealth and treasure 
than to acquire it for themselves by the slow and steady 
arts of peace. 

The commercial spirit was thirty centuries too early to 
be exclusively cultivated ; the ancient nations had few 
lights of experience to guide them right. The fate of 
Tyre, the fate of Carthage are well known : the one fell 
under the hands of Alexander; the other was levelled to 
the ground, through the triumphant and atrocious ambi- 
tion of the Eomans ; yet who were these Grreeks, who were 
these Eomans? There is every reason to believe that the 
Greeks, at least, were a scion mainly of the Phoenician stock 
itself, separated from it while it was still fresh and vigor- 
ous, and in this respect better fortuned than either the 
Spaniards or Britons, who, I showed in my last lecture, 
had retained some of the worst features of the old asje and 
decrepitude of the Phoenician race. The Greeks them- 
selves looked back upon Phoenicia as in some respect a 
mother-land The Cadmus who invented letters settled 
afterwards Thebes in the centre of Greece, and introduced 
the arts of industry and refinement, and his name and the 
settlement were afterwards the theme of the fondest poetry 
and the most lovely and luxuriant mythologies, clustering 
like tendrils around his name, in the fairest and most per- 



LECTURE XI. 303 

feet emblems, emblazoning at once his own signal merit and 
the warm gratitude of his descendants. I judge, from the 
Phoenissse of Euripides, that the entire religion of Boeotia 
was transplanted from Tyre; but before it had assumed 
that dark and livid hue which it afterwards put on, prob- 
ably in the decline of commerce, when the very heavens 
of their imaginations were shaded by the misfortunes and 
dishonor of their country, and took the cast of their own 
dismal minds. 

Herodotus expressly mentions that the Pelasgi, the old 
and original inhabitants of Greece, worshipped the gods, 
but without a name ; and that their names were derived 
from the Egyptians and Phoenicians and that the very 
name Osoi; was derived from 0£o, to arrange, because they 
noted the remarkable arrangement or order of the world 
to be the peculiar feature of the works of divine power. 

But whatever local origin we may attribute to the 
Greeks, whether Phoenician or other, certain it is that 
their mental origin, their intellectual genius, cannot be 
mistaken: it was no borrowed ray from other lands; it 
was freely shed upon them, that Heaven, as it were, might 
exhibit, to the admiration of mankind, the most perfect 
examples of minds perfected by the harmonious combina- 
tion of equal endowments of genius and of taste, and both 
in the highest degree. We have enough of the extravagant 
and exorbitant in the writers of modern times and among 
the Orientals ; but where but in Greece do you find the 
ardency of irresistible genius so tempered and beautified 
by the most perfect taste as to be gracefulness itself? 
Their governments for the most part were democracies ; 
and it was here popular freedom first endured her appren- 
ticeship, it was here that were spread out and embodied 
those experiences whose lights served afterwards to con- 
duct to safe and well-balanced constitutions, first in the 
English, and lastly in the American nation, when it first 



804 NATURAL HISTORY OP MAN. 

entered on its career of independent nationality. What a 
fund of valuable reflections Grecian history afforded to 
those excellent and enlightened men who were chiefly 
instrumental, by their voice and pen, in laying the founda- 
tions of the American Constitution is evident not only from 
the speeches which remain, but from those papers of the 
" Federalist" where the elementary principles of good gov- 
ernment are elucidated and enforced with such admirable 
and profound good sense. Jefferson, although a man very 
imperfect in many respects, had those true stamina of 
character and of philosophy which led him to seek, and 
to find, the just principles of a sound government, amid 
those fragments of republics and monarchies with which 
the ground of ancient history is strewn, — particularly 
Grecian ; there was something genuine and sterling in that 
system of government, which encouraged such minds as 
theirs j and there was something unsated, too, since that 
greatness had so brief a date, and so passed away like a 
morning vision, never since restored in those climes, so 
favored by nature, with all the advantages which the most 
genial soil and atmosphere can give. 

This branch of the Phoenician race, if they were Phoe- 
nicians, quickly grew, quickly withered. The Eoman lasted 
longer; but its mental contours are far less interesting. 
I need not trouble you with sketches of the history of 
either race. With respect to the Greeks and Eomans, they 
have bequeathed to us their languages, those still vital 
forms of their immortal minds, if we will but avail our- 
selves of the legacy ; but with respect to the other races, 
British, Spanish, and others, their bodies are stocks whence 
no inconsiderable part of the population of the New World 
seems destined to arise. May they equal the glory of their 
sires, may they rise superior to it ; may all the virtues here, 
at last, find their home ; and may a just, wise, constitu- 
tional, firm, and beneficent freedom preserve mankind at 



LECTURE XI. 305 

once from the tyranny of their own passions and the op- 
pression of each other. 

The Phoenicians themselves were the peaceful cultivators 
of those mechanical and economical arts, and the type of 
the industrious races of this western continent; but they 
arose in an unpropitious era, and fell ; for they had no 
religion, analogous to Christianity, whose precepts might 
have added dignity and grandeur to the simple and labori- 
ous arts of peace. The second Phoenicia now rises under 
the auspices of the Christian religion, and will be sheltered 
beneath its shade. Such is the omen we draw from the 
indications of the times. 



26* 



306 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 



LECTURE XII. 

ELEMENTS OF AMERICAN CIVILIZATION. 



There is nothing which imprints the truth of an obser- 
vation so well upon the mind as an instance or fact in 
illustration. I had occasion in the last lecture to say that 
there was less of locality (or sacredness combined with it) 
in the religion, in the philosophy, or even in the political 
sentiments of the American States, than in those of the 
Old World. They are removed by their position on the 
globe from the natal spots, from the original localities of the 
primitive elements of the civilization which belongs to them. 
Hence it becomes a very remarkable character of the nation, 
that it views all these principles of action more abstractly, 
and far less locally, than is common in older communities : 
the principles themselves are sacred to them, rather than 
their original residences. This I showed to be favorable to 
soberness and practical rationality, but not to excitement 
of fancy or enthusiasm. All the elements of civilization, 
here floating in the vast abyss, have been long since detached 
from their native rocks, and are valued only for their in- 
trinsic use. All the elements are purely exotic ; and 
originality and perfection are only to be expected from the 
number and curious composition of them. I noticed also 
what a peculiarity it conferred upon the civilization of 
ancient states, that their origin lay amidst such obscurity ; 
so that their divinities became the very founders and local^ 
patrons of their nation. How wonderfully is this circum- 



LECTURE XII. 307 

stance or feature of civilization changed in this country! 
Here there have been no local divinities, and there is no 
period of historical uncertainty amidst which they could 
abide. But an instance will show my meaning here more 
distinctly, I will translate to you a part of a choral song 
from a Greek play, acted before the people of Athens three 
hundred and sixty years before the Christian era. And 
you will take notice how all the religion and poetical fancies 
in it are at once localized and nationalized; and you will 
see, from your knowledge of the origin of these States, that 
such naturalizations here are impossible. Eeligion is com- 
pelled here to remain abstract and spiritual, — philosophy, 
and even poetry, also, in a great degree. The chorus sings 
the praises of the Athenians and their country : 

O ye sons of Erectheus ! 

Whose renown is famed of old ; 

Ye offspring of the happy gods, 

Who tread the soil of Attica, 

The sacred, the invincible land, 

And breathe the wisdom, bright and clear, 

Diffused through all her soft, her fragrant air : 

O here it was, for so our fathers tell, 

Whence sprung the chaste, the sacred Nine, 

The virgin Muses, thy daughters, 

O beauteous and glowing Harmony ! 

And here, too, Yenus, the goddess of smiles, they say, 

When she has sipped of the waters of Cephysus, — 

Our pure, our native stream, — 

Breathes dews and refreshing breezes over all the region ; 

And, crowning the Loves with garlands of roses, — 

The Loves, — by Wisdom's side, — 

Hence has sent throughout the land, 

Of every virtue, and each fair deed, 

The sweet, the winning monitors. — {Medea, v. 820.) 

Such are the ideas, in a nearly literal translation, exhibited 
in this portion of a choral song which was chanted before 



308 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

a promiscuous audience of Athenians in their crowded 
theatres. You perceive at once, from this single specimen, 
that their entire religion was local, and that the very gods 
were natives of Attica. And. this was not altogether a 
poetical sentiment either, but a part of the national super- 
stition. And I need not remind you that the character of 
the true religion was at first similar, — having a locality, and 
even nationality, in Judea. It was the God of Abraham, 
of Isaac, and of Jacob : that phraseology^ w^as originally 
taken in its most literal acceptation. And it derogates 
nothing from the dignity of our religion that it was so, since 
all this narrowness of a local or national complexion has 
long ago been laid aside, or dropped off itself, when its 
universal and abstract truths were proclaimed at the Chris- 
tian era : and in the new world there seems a probability 
that whatever speck of localism or materialism may have 
since dimmed its proper beauty shall here, sooner than in 
other countries, fall off. But I have by this quotation from 
Euripides, I hope, now rendered more intelligible what I 
referred to in my last lecture. I shall have to recur to the 
subject in the course of this lecture, and shall take occasion 
to show that even the amor patrice here does not refer to 
any particular spot, but is entirely of an abstract nature. 

I make, then, in the outset this general remark, that the 
elements of civilization are here more detached from local 
circumstances, and assume a more loose and abstract char- 
acter than they have ever anywhere before done. They are 
also in greater number and quantity, as is reasonable to 
suppose, after so long a lapse of ages, and in a government; 
too, which is free, and consequently rejects no element of 
nature which has been before tested or ascertained. These 
are all gathered here, or are gathering. This may appear 
more clearly after some previous remarks which are neces- 
sary to be made in order to see in what manner nations as 
well as individuals stand affected by the antecedents of the 



LECTURE XII. 309 

events of their history, or those powers of self-government 
with whicli they are intrusted. 

The physical and mental condition of the individual at 
any one point of his history may be considered as the result 
of all those influences which have acted upon him up to 
that period. Of course, the controlling power of his will 
and understanding is always the most important of these 
influences, and this accordingly modifies and so affects the 
whole as to give a unity and individuality, certain and inde- 
structible, to that being which he calls himself. 

Analogous with the case of an individual is that of a 
nation or an epoch. The state of a nation at any one stage 
of its progress is the result of that aggregate of causes 
which have at any time affected it, in connection still with 
its own fixed and determinate national character. All that 
has been done or undertaken by the nation in any age, how- 
ever remote from that in which it is viewed, has in some 
degree influenced its present condition. It is this great 
feature of humanity which gives such remarkable and 
striking contrast to the life of the human being, whether 
considered individually or socially, as compared with that 
of the inferior animals. The w^hole collected good or evil, 
wisdom or folly, of the preceding generations light upon 
that which is for the time upon the stage of existence ; yet 
not by an uncontrolled law of necessity, but from that sys- 
tem of education in which the individual or nation is first 
placed, — in its most impressible state, — and from which its 
whole character, intellectual and moral, is ever afterwards 
tinctured and imbued ; but still, even over these circum- 
stances, the innate strength of the original mind, under the 
light of heaven, is enabled to exert a resistance and control, 
so as not to be subdued, but merely modified or affected by 
them. Consequently, the individual, at his introduction into 
life, is placed under the action of two controlling influences, 
depressing or elevating; these are the traditions of his 



310 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

nation, the artificial systems of prescriptive action and 
opinion on the one hand, and the immutable truths of divine 
relation on the other, whether they be inscribed for him on 
the religion of his country or on the face of nature itself. 
The individual, and hence also the nation, — the aggregate 
of individuals, — holds between these an even balance of 
freedom, not such, indeed, that neither shall affect him, but 
only that neither shall affect him by an absolute and blind 
necessity ; for, according to his natural and voluntary dis- 
position, he may either suffer himself to be pinioned down 
by the maxims and usages of the times, or he may ascend, 
in free choice, to the more perfect standards which religion 
and nature reveal to his reason and understanding. 

It is in consequence of this peculiarity of human freedom 
that, after the most exact analysis of the ingredients or 
materials of the civilization of any period, we still cannot 
predict with certainty what may be the future condition 
of that nation or people„ At most, we can only take 
omens, — entertain well-grounded hopes, or indulge in appre- 
hensions: such, we say, has been its infancy, such the dis- 
cipline of its earlier youth, and such the signs or tokens of 
its adolescence ; and we therefore fear, or therefore hope, 
that such or such will be the future complexion of its his- 
tory. For we cannot shut our eyes to the fact that nations 
which have promised themselves immorlality have never- 
theless sunk into decay, and at last into dissolution ; the 
dreams and visions of their perpetual duration have proved 
fallacious and groundless. The immortality of virtue, of 
justice, of honor, of pure religion, we have every reason to 
believe, is secured ; but those who seem at first marked out 
their early guardians are often cut off as a nation, and dis- 
appear from the earth. The seed of Abraham endures, and 
will endure forever, but only that seed of undecaying truth 
which was deposited in his bosom, — of the unity of God, 
and the moral and pure worship alone acceptable to him. 



LECTURE XII. 311 

It is this part in Abraham only which endures, but trans- 
ferred now to other nations and other climes,— having ger- 
minated long since into a pure and spiritual religion, which 
is intended, no doubt, ultimately to embrace all mankind. 
And, in like manner, the principles of political and civil 
liberty are still youthful and flourishing, although Greece is 
no longer the soil in which they grow, and although the 
Hollander has ceased to be animated now with any other 
than a most sordid love of gain. And even now, should 
this fair vision which opens upon the view of mankind, of 
freedom and of a rational and just commonwealth in this 
land, be overcast ; should even the awful fate of ultimate 
extinction await it among our descendants here, — freedom 
still, the sister of justice, and at once the supporter and 
dependent of law, will not herself have perished, — it cannot 
be ; and even if she leave the earth for a time, — the soul 
and body too, — it will be like the prophet Elijah, — to return 
again, at an era however distant, and more propitious for 
the virtues. 

It is not, therefore, for the purposes of national eulogy, 
or to gratify any less worthy feeling, that we have taken 
some pains to trace in several preceding lectures the prog- 
ress and successions of the grander events which have 
prepared the way for modern civilization, especially in this 
continent; but it is because we conceive that civilization 
to be a positive good in itself, and designed by a benevolent 
Creator for the benefit of the whole human family; and if 
it should still prove to be a blessing and a gift of which 
this nation and others are unworthy, and therefore only 
to be shown to the world for a day, and afterwards to be 
withdrawn, but still kept in memory and in reserve for the 
use and exaltation of far distant ages and nations yet 
unborn ; however this may be, for we know not the future, 
still it will be delightful, meanwhile, to analyze that civili- 
zation, and to inquire whence it has arisen, whereof it is 



312 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

composed, and to wliat it tends. That it is brightly re- 
vealed now is no certain pledge of its stay; how beauti- 
fully, how perfectly dawned the light of a sure and just 
taste in letters at Eome, in the minds and in the age of 
Cicero and of Yirgil, yet what barbarism succeeded! But 
we will indulge indeed no such ill fears respecting this civili- 
zation now at the outset, but speak and think of it, at least 
through this lecture, as if it were to endure. 

We might, in tracing out the natural history of man, 
have begun even here at once, with a review and an analy- 
sis of the elements which enter into the composition of the 
civilization of the nineteenth century, — or the American 
civilization, as we may call it, because here at least less im- 
peded^ — but such direct analysis would not then have been 
so clearly understood. But now, after the survey we have 
made of the different races, and the specifications of the 
mental characters of different ages, it is not difficult to com- 
prehend that certain ingredients from all these have entered 
into the present compound of laws, government, philosophy, 
religion, tones of feeling, and habits of thinking which are 
to a great degree commingled here. And even from our dis- 
sertation on language and speech, it can be seen from the 
peculiar composition of the Anglican dialect, or English 
language, so compounded as it is, and made up of the 
tributes of so many tongues, and capable, from the very 
looseness of its structure, of such amplifications hereafter, 
' — in this fact alone you can see a partial return, a slight 
flexure towards that more perfect state of mankind, an- 
ciently so mystically but yet sublimely imaged in the 
theological language of sacred Scripture. The whole earth 
was of one language and of one speech ; this, indeed, is not 
an historical^ but a sacred event, and which we do not 
therefore historically apply. But surely, if the unanimity 
and the sacred friendship established among all the fra- 
ternal tribes of mankind, in consequence of the pure 



LECTURE XII. 313 

worship of the one revealed God, could be signified and 
told by the natural symbol, — one language, one lip, — we 
do not reason far from the purpose when we are inclined 
to regard the wide extent historically of our national 
language now, if not an indication, at least something of a 
prediction or sign of a similar happy state of nations here- 
after. And thus our lecture on language may be considered 
as shedding some light on one of the elements of modern 
civilization, — the tendency to a more extended intercourse, 
through one spoken living language. The Latin and Greek 
languages have been universal, as to the learned ; they 
have been the bonds of the republic of letters and of the 
church, an extended and select civilization ; but here is a 
living language, the language of the people, and therefore 
of a diffused and popular civilization. The English lan- 
guage is a mixed current of the forms of thought of the 
German, French, Italian, Eoman, Grecian, Scotch, English, 
and Irish nations. It is unnecessary to say more ; you see 
the origin and tendency of this element. The Greek lan- 
guage was indigenous, and the civilization which rose with 
it was tinctured with all the hues of native beauty. Eut it 
was not gathered widely, nor from afar; and the period of 
pure originality among them was brief. In this view — 

Theh^ pleasures were like poppies spread, — 
You seize the flower, its bloom is shed ; 
Or like the snow-fall in the river, — 
A moment white, then melts forever ; 
Or like the borealis race, 
That flit ere you can point their place ; 
Or like the rainbow's lovely form 
Evanishing amid the storm. 

As the English literature has more combination, it may 
be expected to have greater permanence, — more stability, 
if less beauty, — more phases of originality, if not one of 

27 



314 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

such absolute perfection. The lecture ou races, and their 
different mental and moral peculiarities, will also suggest 
to you that, by the importation of the literature of Asia, or 
the Oriental mental complexion, the mind of the modern 
period has also a supply of freshness from this quarter, 
which the G-reek and Eoman either did not have or de- 
spised; for, in consequence of contemning all nations but 
themselves (in their more perfectly civilized state, at least), 
they disdained to borrow from any. As their minds there- 
fore bred in and m, according to a well-known law, they 
could not but degenerate in this particular, especially the 
Eomans, for the Greeks latterly were more obliged to 
extend and vary their language. 

From Asia, then, and the feeling and warm fancies of that 
distant quarter of the globe ; from the German, and their 
solemn philosophy; from the French, and their quickness 
and vivacity ; from the Italian, and their melody of sound ; 
from the rustic Scotch dialect even, — the English language, 
and those who speak it, consequently, derive compass and 
breadth of expression, and a less inclination than there has 
ever been of dwindling into local and insignificant thoughts 
and idioms. These are elements of the civilization in the 
midst of which we live, and which require but to be 
wrought by the hand of industry, by diligent and assiduous 
study, to produce a novel aspect in literature and philoso- 
phy, in thought and its expression. And, surely, if the 
tastes, and perhaps even in some degree the moral feelings 
of a people may depend upon the style and fashion of dress 
common in a community, the minds of a nation must be in 
no slight measure modified or affected by the perfection or 
imperfection, the polish or the rudeness, of that language 
— the dress of thought — which they habitually employ. 
Why should fathers and mothers be so solicitous to have 
their sons and daughters neatly and tastefully arrayed as 
to their bodies, and yet neglect that approi)riate dress of 



LECTURE XII. 315 

the mind, pure and grammatical expression? Eely npon 
it that, in tbe judgment of those whose sentiments we 
should most respect, an ill-selected or vulgar phraseology 
is a much greater offence against elegance and refinement 
than tattered and thread-worn clothes. An American who 
loves his country will take care to preserve even the purity 
and integrity of her language; and, although these be 
minor elements of civilization, still they are not unde- 
serving of notice. 

But why do I not proceed here at once to that which is 
the greatest of all, and is the animating principle of the 
whole ? You perceive I mean the Christian religion, since 
that fills all the others, and is their soul indeed. I proceed, 
then, at once to pursue all the parts of the last evening's 
lecture to their full expansion in the present, for I intended 
it, as well as that which immediately preceded, but as the 
vestibule or introduction to the object of this. Suffer me, 
then, to recajDitulate briefly, and to apply as the recapitu- 
lation may suggest. 

The several points discussed or brought under consider- 
ation were these : 

First. — The obscure knowledge or vague impressions 
which existed among the ancient nations in regard to this 
hemisphere of the earth ; among the most remarkable of 
which, I showed you to be those accounts which Solon, the 
law-giver of Athens, had received from an Egyptian priest 
on the subject, at the time of his visit to that country to 
obtain information in regard to its laws and civil usages. 
It was then that the priest incidentally mentioned the tra- 
dition that prevailed among them in regard to the existence 
of a large island in the Atlantic, which had since disap- 
peared, and an extensive continent beyond that, which was 
known to exist, but had not been visited. 

Secondly. — I showed that Plato, on the foundation of the 
traditions regarding this subject (for at the time of the 



316 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

imaginary existence of this island, the priest also informed 
Solon that an ancient city had flourished where Athens 
then stood), — on these combined traditions, as a basis, — 
Plato had built up his fanciful republic, — that is, a system 
of government having all that perfection and beauty which 
he supposed a state ought to have, in order to be a likeness 
and just representation of that commonwealth which, he 
says, exists in heaven, but has yet been nowhere seen on 
earth ; all existing governments being but the accidental 
combination of heterogeneous elements, which possess 
neither stability nor justness of proportion. 

Thirdly. — I showed that, from the character of his im- 
agined commonwealth, combining of course all those prin- 
ciples of perfection which either his experience or his ideas 
of right could suggest, — when even this model of ideal 
perfection was compared with the actual theory of the 
government of this country, it could be seen that the 
science itself of government was much more advanced now 
than it was then, and that society had made a real progress 
towards perfection. 

Fourthly. — I proceeded to state wherein the particulars 
of this improvement and advancement lie, and in what 
points principally the tone and character of modern society 
differed from that which anciently existed ; that it did not 
consist in an actual pre-eminence in all respects, but on the 
whole in a more peaceful and rational constitution of affairs. 
I showed in particular how much the very origin of this 
nation differed from those beginnings of old nations which 
were involved in mystery and uncertainty, whereas this 
has been begun and settled under the clear and positive 
light of history and ordinary experience. I then called 
your attention to that kind of influence which this pecu- 
liarity of its early condition was calculated to exert upon 
the mind of the nation, in present and future times ; that 
it could not look back on a period of romantic adventure 



LECTURE XII. 317 

and enterprise, as most of other nations, — that the tenor of 
its path from the first has been one of ordinary motive and 
every-day experience, on which it was impossible to build 
either poetry or romance ; that, consequently, a different 
kind of influence was shed, even on the cradle of this 
nation, from what had ever been before usual ; that reason, 
common sense, commerce, agriculture, were the deities, 
whose stern smiles and careworn countenances seemed to 
welcome in the birth of this new nation, and to preside 
over its destiny. Fancy was not there, with poetry by her 
side, and the sister arts ; and hardly even religion, in her 
milder, and sweeter, and serener forms, — but she too wore 
a certain grim and terrible and severe, although just, coun- 
tenance and look, at the time this young nation was ushered 
into being. Such then was the aspect of the constellations 
which presided over the natal hours of this transatlantic 
republic. And although we may accord no credit certainly 
to the judicial astrology of the olden time, yet this idea, 
which it involved, was no doubt correct, that such peculiar 
influences as are exerted on the birth and origin of things 
have ever afterwards an especial control over every future 
period of their history and development. The individual 
or the nation can easily shake off and rid itself of those 
foreign or external shocks or disturbances which it sustains 
after it has attained some strength or maturity ; but those 
influences or circumstances which have affected it in the 
first tenderness and imbecility of its -original formation 
leave permanent and ineffaceable characters behind them. 
And of such we may say, with absolute certainty, that they 
will only grow with their growth and strengthen with their 
strength. Those influences, therefore, which were exerted 
at the very settlement of this nation must still continue to 
operate, as they have hitherto operated, and exclude all 
those dark and yet sometimes not unpleasing delusions 
which have exercised such a powerful sway over the minds 

27* 



318 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

and manners of other nations. It is plain, from the omens 
of its childhood, that this nation and this hemisphere is 
destined to gain all that distinction which it may ever 
acquire, not from the indulgence of pleasing dreams of 
superstition or delusion, but from the sober, clear, and 
rational voice, and day-visions of truth. This conclusion I 
deduced from the circumstances of the early origin of the 
American States, as also I showed the peculiar features of 
the national character of the Greeks to have resulted from 
an aboriginal history of an entirely different complexion, — 
a long period, namely, of national existence on which the 
lights of positive records are not shed, but yet the whole 
ground consecrated and hallowed by the gleams of a pure 
at first, although afterwards corrupt, religion. From which 
it arose that the nation could trace its descent from the 
gods in the mystic annals of its religion. JSTone can tell, 
unless those who are deeply read in the writings of those 
times, what vast and peculiar effects this popular belief 
exercises upon the minds of those people. Their whole 
mental life was a dream,— a dream of beautiful superstition. 
Heaven and earth, to their imaginations, formed one con- 
tinuous and connected whole ; the hierarchy of heaven had 
its seat on the top of Olympus ; and the different divinities 
had conversed familiarly with their forefathers during the 
first career of these nations, and become the most closely 
and dearly allied with them. Men of dull minds may ridi- 
cule the fact as they choose ; it will always be found (and 
philosophy should be the first to acknowledge it) that it is 
the religion of a people, be that what it may, which always 
the most influences their national character and impresses 
upon it its peculiar bias. 

However this enigma of human nature may be hereafter 
explained, whatever illustration the light of future genera- 
tions may throw upon it, this much at least is certain, that 
that part of the constitution of man through which he has 



LECTURE XII. 319 

the sense of religion is that which is the mainspring of the 
entire character, and, accordingly as it is touched or affected, 
regulates and determines all the other movements of his 
mind and history. Change the religion of a nation, and you 
change the nation itself; you impress a new modification 
upon it, and it receives a corresponding form. Let a reli- 
gion, as among the Greeks, spring up from the very ter- 
ritory itself, — or, at least, if it be not absolutely indigenous, 
suppose it to have run underground, as it were, from so 
remote an age or country that no one can believe otherwise 
than that it has originated in the very spot where it is first 
observed, and welled out of the earth perfectly pure and 
uncontaminated, or mixed only with the native ingredients 
of the soil which render it but the more palatable to the 
national taste, — suppose, I say, the religion to be thus local, 
and original, and you are certain to find a people most 
deeply and thoroughly imbued with its spirit, and dis- 
tinguished pre-eminently for all that sweet and agreeable 
fancy and fine flow of mystical thoughts and feelings which 
qualify men in a remarkable degree for poetry and the 
liberal arts and the pure and innocent enjoyment of life, 
but rather adverse than otherwise to the invention or im- 
provement of the mechanical arts or the deliberate and 
successful cultivation of science. The gods are so near to 
such a people, and so local, too, and consequently the ideas 
of them so much associated with all their ordinary expe- 
rience and modes of thinking and conversing, that they 
deem it next to foolishness to seek for truth in any other 
manner than through a direct intercourse with their divin- 
ities, and the impressions of their thoughts and intelligence 
on the minds and souls of the nation. Inductive philosophy 
— the investigation of truth in the way of trial and experi- 
ment, and the slow accumulation of facts and evidences — 
seems all too dull and prosaic to their quick and lively 
apprehensions, rendered doubly quick and susceptible by 



320 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

their continual and daily converse with these unseen beings 
2>eopling every grove and every fountain and stream of 
their native land. But you perceive that this disposition 
is fostered and encouraged by that very obscurity of their 
early annals which I have noted as a peculiarity in the 
nations of the old world, compared with those of the new ; 
for by this it came to pass that they could be moulded into 
any and every form, and the first part of their career could 
be made the foil of the mirror which was to reflect the 
rising greatness of the nations, or the new creeds of religion 
w^hich from time to time sprung up among them. 

But in all these respects the new world is circumstanced 
quite differently : their religion is detached from their his- 
tory ; their history, indeed, from the first was, and still 
continues to be, affected and moulded by their religion ; but 
the converse is not absolutely true, — namely, that their 
religion was and is also moulded and shaped by their his- 
tory. The local origin of their religion is not in the new 
world at all ; here is neither Olympus nor Mount Sion ; the 
ground is no longer religious, as it was wont to be in the an- 
cient world ; but this very pecuHarity, combined with the 
want of the obscure and mysterious in their origin, has, at 
once as I have already said, fixed the seal On their national 
character, and declared the auspices of their whole future 
career. And when I look forward upon that future career, 
and backward on that course which the old world has 
already run ; when as a philosopher, but still as a man, I 
reflect on what Judea, and Grreece, and early Eome, and the 
original Gothic nations once have been ; when I call to mind 
their dear, their almost consecrated illusions, their temple 
songs, their touching arts, breathing all of infancy and 
delight ; when I reflect on all that past, so grateful to the 
imagination and memory, and then look forward to this 
future, opening in the new continent, although I must con- 
fess that the prospect is, upon the whole, certainly much 



LECTURE XII. 321 

more agreeable and consistent with reason than the retro- 
spect has been, showing a vista of advancing centuries, in 
which truth and certitude and philosophy are more likely 
to prevail than they have hitherto done ; yet, nevertheless, 
the heart clings with a certain fondness even to those by- 
gone delusions^ if they were indeed delusions, and almost 
dreads those realities which open on the path before us. It 
is with something of the same feeling we see the years of 
childhood disappear, and the approach of manhood visible 
in the distance. And indeed, as it is not possible ever again 
to have the same feelings which we enjoyed in childhood, 
even in the most serene stage of advanced life, so it appears 
to me that there is in the mind of early nations a certain 
development which can never afterwards be called out, even 
by the most perfect civilization, a certain play of fancy, a 
kind of truth which is to be known only from the perusal 
afterwards of their first rude and infantile but yet most 
impressive literature. A scholar loves the poems of Homer 
with an attachment somewhat analogous to that which a 
grown-up person entertains for a child : it is an attachment 
altogether different from that which he feels for one of his 
own age, but none will say that it is less useful to himself, 
or of less advantage to society, than the other. 

And if we might be permitted to express an opinion on 
a subject which lies so far remote from our recognition as 
the divine reasons for the arrangements of the moral world, 
we might say that it could not have happened without the 
exercise of a special Providence that so many of the early 
poems of the first ages have been preserved ; that thus we 
might have the opportunity of seeing those grateful blos- 
soms of the simple mind, which are so much unlike, in 
many respects, their future expansions into truth, philoso- 
phy, and practical reason. I never could trust that man 
nor woman either, and never will, that can be insensible to 
the simple ballads and songs of rude times ; there is always 



322 NATURAL HISTORY OP MAN. 

in them something wrong at the core. For what was the 
art of writing, and latterly that of printing, designed, but 
that we might see the beautiful impress of the Divine 
hand on the minds of original society, as well as the more 
regular and distinct characters of the moral law on the 
codes and constitutions of modern nations. 

It is certain, on calm reflection, that the new order of 
society which is now springing up is preferable to that 
which has in a great measure passed away ; but still it 
would be but a poor symptom of it if we were incapable of 
doing justice to the past, or if we were inclined to think 
that this new state of society which is dawning will be 
such as to oblige us to reject anything at all which has 
formerly existed, interesting or beautiful, as inconsistent 
with the genius of the approaching epoch. I hope this is 
not to be gathered or inferred from anything I have said 
in this or in the preceding lecture. It is true, I speak of 
the new state of society, to which we are tending, as char- 
acterized and to be marked more with the features of stern 
and uncompromising truth, light, and positive assurance, 
than any that have preceded it ; but, although I believe 
and see that such a condition of things will not admit of 
those peculiar kinds of romantic pleasures, derived from 
poetry and the fine arts, which have before existed, yet I 
by no means think that there are not other sources of 
rational and pure delight, of an analogous kind, still in 
reserve for mankind. Mankind cannot exist, the sweet 
charities of society cannot be maintained, without some 
such enjoyments ; but what I maintain is that new foun- 
tains of poetry and art must be unsealed, which are to cor- 
respond with this new state of our social condition : I say 
they must he unsealed, for that they have not been opened 
yet in this nation is certain. There is yet no national 
poetry here, no liberal art : there is poetry indeed, and art, 
but it is exotic; it belongs to the old society which is 



LECTURE XII. 323 

passing away; there is no poetry, no art, which as yet has 
sprung from and properly belongs to the new world ; there 
is no poetry, no art, differing from all other poetry and 
art, and as much distinguished by the brand of novelty, as, 
for example, are the Declaration of Independence and the 
Constitution of these States, which stand off, as something 
distinct and new, from all other political writings or in- 
struments which have before existed. There is not a 
single national song that has taken hold of the mind of the 
people, with the exception of " Yankee Doodle." There are 
songs, but they are not echoed from heart to heart, like the 
native reverberations of mountains, declaring, by that very 
fact, that they are nation-born, — that they are America- 
born, — that they belong to the new society. 

But I doubt not ihesQ fountains of feeling are to be found ; 
I only believe they are not yet unsealed, but still to be 
unsealed. Oh! when will the magician go out with his 
divining rod and find them, that they may gush forth and 
refresh the parched land ? for I believe that the souls of 
the people want song and poetry, or, what is analogous 
thereto, they need a healthy excitement ; a nation cannot 
live without excitement. G-ood music, good songs, good 
paintings, which were all new, and truly native, would do 
more to cure the fanaticism and intemperance of the land 
than all these artificial societies instituted for such pur- 
poses. There is a blank in the public mind, which requires 
to be filled up. Would society burst forth so frequently 
into those superstitious ebullitions called revivals, if the 
chords of genuine feeling were struck in the human heart, 
— if the pure tones of devotion were regularly, and calmly, 
and sweetly elicited by the divine touch of art, whether 
the poetical, the musical, or the graphical f They should 
be as original and native, and as coincident with the 
genius of the new era, as were the political acts, in 
every sense, of the worthies of the revolution,~the ends, 



324 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

the thougbts and expressions of a Hamilton, a Jefferson, 
or a Madison. 

Let it be observed, then, that when I speak of the new 
state of society which is springing up, as excluding certain 
peculiarities or features of civilization, I mean only those 
features and peculiarities which arose naturally, or of ne- 
cessity, from the circumstances of each ancient nation. 
Those nations were planted and seeded in an obscure era ; 
a mystical uncertainty shrouded their beginnings, and 
thence there hung a kind of mist or haze over the whole 
succeeding period of their history ; on which, however, as 
the sun of their national splendor was reflected from it, 
there were seen all the rainbow hues of poetry and ro- 
mance : nay, even the lovely form of their religion was 
reflected to them from the same sources ; for, to adopt the 
language of Cicero, there is no nation so rude and bar- 
barous in whose minds there exist not the ideas of Divine 
Power ; and surely, if the philosophy of Cicero was ade- 
quate to the discernment of this fact, we, who are in- 
structed by the oracles of an infallible religion, ought not 
to be so blind and infatuated as not to know that Grod has 
nowhere left himself without a witness, but that there is a 
certain portion of divine light in the religion of every 
country. 

But such then was their religion, — always local, — always 
Greece-boro, or Eome-born, or Judea-born; but ours is 
none of these, but God-born ; and its language is, neither 
in this mountain nor in Jerusalem alone shall men 
worship, but they shall worship — what ? — how ? — Him, 
in spirit and in truth. And it is this very circumstance 
that has conferred and must confer a new and entirely 
distinct character on the civilization of this country. 
I repeat what I stated in my last lecture, and I do so 
because it was complained, and no doubt justly, that my 
observations then were not understood, nor their bearing 



LECTURE XII. 325 

on the natural history of man perceived, nor j^et on the 
progress of nations. What then ? — is this nev^ state of 
society which is now beginning, and whose original source 
was local and national, — namely, that fountain opened in 
the House of David, the founder of the Jewish monarchy, 
— a less natural state of man, less in harmony and consist- 
ency with his nature and instinct, than that other condi- 
tion of mankind which existed in Judea, in G-reece, in 
Phoenicia, in Eome? I say we can know nothing as to 
what is the natural state of man but through those docu- 
ments of his history furnished to us : and when I look first 
at Greece and Phoenicia, and the ancient state of society, 
and thence at the modern condition of mankind in the new 
world, and when I ask you to look at them together, on 
this side and on that of the picture, from one point of view 
and then from another, am I not adhering to my subject, 
and bringing before the mind those phenomena from which 
the actual character of human nature can be deciphered, 
and the vestiges of a wonderful plan discovered? To find 
human nature, am I to go to the woods rather than to 
cities, or to deal out abstractions rather than to expose 
facts ? To give the natural history of the bee, 3'ou must 
explain the entire structure of the hive. But what if the 
entire hive of the human race is not yet constructed ? then 
I must describe, and can describe, only such parts as 
appear already perfected. 

But you ask me what the commerce and arts of Phoe- 
nicia, on which I descanted, had to do with the subject ? 
I can now show, what I did then imperfectly. The new 
civilization which is beginning on this continent, and also 
simultaneously in Europe (here perhaps more conspicu- 
ously, from having less of the old to contend with), is a 
compound of many elements, which have been before 
separately prepared in different local centres; but now 
that the whole are about being cemented into one, and 

28 



326 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

amalgamated, they are disengaged from their various 
localities; and even locality itself, as respects the new 
civilization, is evidently designed to have a less influence 
over the destinies of mankind than it has heretofore exer- 
cised. This I indicated in my tenth lecture, in the melting 
down of so many languages into two on this continent. 

But now as to the different elements of the new civili- 
zation, and their ancient and primitive centres : let me now 
indicate them, so that the bearing and relations of all the 
parts be distinctly visible. Eecollect, then, that I showed 
(in my last lecture) that a very remarkable feature in the 
face of this civilization which is now coming forward here 
is the assiduous and earnest cultivation of the mechanical 
and economical arts, which gives a kind of sober and anti- 
sentimental aspect to our society, but which is nevertheless 
the very stay of our freedom, and the means of the elevation 
and independence of the gre^t body of the people. I noted 
this element of the American civilization as the natural 
and proper and true ground or soil in the human mind, 
when cultivated and improved, in which that genius of 
peace which is the sacred emblem of Christianity, and 
her distinction, could find the best security, lodgement, and 
repose. 

But where was this element of modern civilization, the 
cultivation of the mechanical and economical arts, originally 
evolved, — which is its mother-land, its local centre ? for every 
element that enters into the new civilization has had a centre, 
■ — a first local habitation and a name. I carried you forth- 
with to Phoenicia, almost four thousand years up the stream 
of time, and I showed you there — in Tyre, in her ships and 
in her harbors, and in the workshops of her mechanics and 
manufacturers and dyers — an epitome of Old England and 
of New, — the genius of commerce, of industry, of invention, 
and of improvement in her infancy, or rather in the bloom 
of her prime. And I showed you a vigorous old man, 



LECTURE XII. 327 

Herodotus, come westward from Greece, then a new country, 
to see this nation of shop-keepers, — this old Old England ; 
and he finds there a temple of Hercules, which had stood two 
thousand three hundred years, and he is surprised to hear 
it, and he puts many inquiries to the priests and merchants 
he meets with, but he finds the origin and first periods of 
their nation unknown, even to themselves, — an old country 
even four hundred and eighty years before the Christian era. 
But to what invention had it given birth ? The art of 
writing, the art which connects the whole history of man 
together, as with a magic spell. And you saw therein, and 
in that wonderful invention, the type of that spirit of 
improvement and love of useful innovation which charac- 
terized Phoenicia, — which characterizes Old England and 
"New England, — which distinguishes, and always has dis- 
tinguished with peculiar emphasis, that marked element of 
the new civilization ; I mean the devotion to and cultivation 
of the useful, mechanical, and economical arts. 

Such then was ancient Phoenicia. Such was the seed of 
mechanical usefulness and artisanship which, as far as we 
know, was originally deposited there by the hand of Grod 
himself; and has been thence transplanted into this country, 
here to germinate, we hope, under far better influences, and 
to expand, and blossom, and bear fruits, to the good of man- 
kind. There is, however, in these arts that which, while 
they improve the head and sharpen the ingenuity and sober 
the man, may also, unless there are shed good influences, 
contract the heart, deaden the affections, and freeze the 
genial current of the soul. 

Eut hard by Tyre, the mother-land of these the economical 
arts, — it might be fifty or a hundred miles east and south, — 
there stood a city famed of old, and its name has been known 
and heard afar ; it was the city of Jerusalem, the metropolis 
of Palestine. In this ground was deposited, and in this 
land, also by the hand of God, a plant of fair renown, and 



328 NATURAL HISTORY OP MAN. 

of far diviner virtues than this of commerce or of art, 
whether that were the mechanical or the liberal ; and as 
thus the bane and antidote then grew so near together that 
it might almost seem as of Divine intention (and a Divine 
lesson), that art, when it became evil, might thus receive 
its correction from religious good, so also I should imagine, 
now that both have been transferred into this country, — 
transplanted in this soil, — the seeds of arts renowned, and 
of a religion sublime as heaven and pure as its Author, they 
should ever be encouraged and made to grow side by side, 
or not far apart, that the evil of the one may ever be cured 
by the good of the other : that when commerce and art and 
mechanism would begin to blunt or deaden the fine feelings 
of the mind, either to engender fraud or to contract the soul, 
then Christianity, with her ten commandments, — not fifty 
miles east, but even nearer, — may come in to correct, and 
with her songs and her music to soften the heart. 

You see now, then, a connection between Judea and 
Phoenicia, and Old England and New England, and all this 
continent and hemisphere,— and between era b.o. 490 and 
era a.d. 1837. And, lest you should imagine that the connec- 
tion is accidental and fanciful, and not real, you can actually 
now see and hear that the mind and invention of Cadmus, 
in the art of writing, has a close and unbroken connection 
with what I am now doing ; for I could not now be gather- 
ing up the ideas marked on the paper before me, had not 
that illustrious art been invented. 

But how is this ? since the generations of men are con- 
stantly being swept from the earth, and even nations them- 
selves are mortal (for the Phoenician is now no more), who 
or what perpetuates the grand design, who or what presides 
over each adjustment, and connects even the overthrow and 
destruction of men and their works with the perpetuation, 
with the integrity, of the same plan, with the same un- 
blemished unity of purpose, from epoch to epoch ? Who, — 



LECTURE XII. 329 

what does this ? Can you tell me ? This is the enigma to 
be solved by the study of the history of man ; and it can 
be solved when a light is shed on it from above, but not 
otherwise, for the solution belongs to theology, and not to 
science, and therefore falls not within the scope of these 
lectures. But I spoke of Greece and Eome also, in my last 
lecture, and what connection had they with the subject ; 
had they any ? They had some, you may see, if you will 
fix your eyes again on the new civilization^ rising like a 
mighty river, amid the mists of the morning, as you have 
approached it from the mountain tops, and that rivei% too, 
fed from the sources of a thousand rills, and rolling onward 
to mingle its tribute also with a stream still more majestic 
than itself. I have shown you, then, two sources already 
from which this new civilization has been derived, Judea 
and Phoenicia ; the one the fountain of pure Christianity, 
the other a stream of more dubious hue, but still capable 
of purification, — the arts, the commerce, the soberness, the 
busi?iess-spirit of Phoenicia. 

And what did Grreece and Eome for us ? I am to tell, but 
first let me say that the commercial spirit, the spirit of 
trading, was mastered by the spirit of war in the ancient 
world. Eome destroyed Carthage (Phoenicia revived) ; and 
the interpretation of that historical event into the language 
of philosophy is this, that in ancient times the military 
spirit triumphed over the commercial spirit and extin- 
guished it. Eome conquered Carthage, and blotted her out 
from the map of cities and metropolises. How is it in the 
new hemisphere in the nineteenth century ? The reverse 
has happened, at least for a time : Carthage has destroyed 
Eome. The commercial spirit already has here levelled the 
military spirit, and it will do the same in England also before 
long. This fact, however, is no part of the good and new 
civilization, but rather of the old, for the new civilization, 
as it advances, will save both the military and commercial 

28* 



330 NATURAL HISTORY OP MAN. 

spirit ; and Eome as well as Carthage will be rebuilt, and a 
new lord appointed over both, — -I mean the genius of peace- 
ful yet energetic Christianity ; and war is energy. I have 
not time to explain my ideas more fully on this subject ; you 
can take the hint, and reason it out. But you see already 
what element in the modern civilization I consider due to 
Eome ; it is the element of empire, of union, of strength ; 
the stupendous fact, which the whole history of Eome pre- 
sents from her beginning to her end, that it is practicable 
that many nations be cemented under one government, — 
and that when there is such a unity, the force, the power, 
is sublime and tremendous, conferring upon every individual 
of such an empire, as it were, the grandeur and energy of 
millions. Every Eoman citizen, in consequence of this 
prevailing idea of the mighty empire, was himself a host, — 
Romanus civis sum, — but that union was local, selfish, and 
at last infernal, and therefore it was dissolved. But this 
practical exhibition of the possibility of such a union, and 
the power that resulted from it, is bequeathed as a legacy 
of useful reflections to posterity, and will not be lost in the 
ulterior developments of the new civilization here. Union 
is here the word : let them study how Eome became one, 
and whence at last many, — and was numbered and finished. 
Then as to Greece — I also spoke of Greece in my last 
lecture, and perhajDS did not distinctly signify her relation 
to the subject of it. It can now readily be done. The con- 
tributions of Greece to the modern elements of society are 
perhaps greater and of more value than those of any other 
nation. True, indeed, she does not contribute of her own 
native blood to the stream which now circulates through 
the veins and arteries of the population of this country, or 
of England, Germany, France, or Spain. The Greeks have 
not emigrated, but, what has been of vastly more conse- 
quence, their own beautiful language and high-thoughted 
philosophy have emigrated, and repeopled with the ideas 



LECTURE XII. 331 

and the impressions of beauty and of nature the entire 
mind of the civilized world. If she has herself constituted 
no part of the flood or the tide of population that has been 
pouring itself all over this hemisphere, yet the genius of 
her literature and philosophy, so to speak, has proved that 
sweet and purifying breeze which has fanned the waters and 
made them glitter playfully and smilingly in the light of 
day. There is something naturally dull and phlegmatic, 
although ponderous and strong, in the Anglo-Saxon mind ; 
but the scholars of the race have derived lightness and 
spirit from the genius of Greece. But why need I dwell 
upon this topic, since it is well known that it is her language 
also which is the divine vehicle of the truths of the New 
Testament ? and her republics again, so numerous, and each 
a little centre of civilization and originality within itself, 
contribute also an almost inexhaustible store of valuable 
illustrations and arguments for those who will advocate in 
this land (and I hope such will never be wanting) the para- 
mount importance of state sovereignties, in order to the full 
expansion of the varied mind of the nation, — this confed- 
erated empire, — that it may be what its motto expresses, 
not a mere unwn, but e pluribus unum. 

But if there was any poetry, any art in Greece, any 
philosophy, she contributes also that. What then, for 
servile imitation ? I have shown in my last lecture, and I 
show now, it cannot, it must not be. Especially as to 
poetry,- — as to the sources whence fancy was fed, the 
religious instinct was refreshed and invigorated in Rome 
and in Greece. ]S^ow the whole circumstances are entirely 
changed ; the horizon of the national mind is altogether 
different. I need not recur to that topic again ; I would 
but weary you. But this much you may clearly see, that 
the sources from which the whole of humanity is now to be 
nourished all over the civilized world — emphatically Chris- 
tendom — are far more numerous and brightly and purely 



332 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

flowing, and especially on this account, that an angel has 
descended and healed the waters. Oh ! need I tell you what 
angel ? The whole bright and augmenting river, which 
erst began to flow from the foot of Zion hill, and for nearly 
three hundred years flowed on so quietly and almost 
obscurely through the valleys and recesses of the Eoman 
world, — that stream, I say, which has been running on- 
ward, and spreading widely withal, and calling up verdure 
and beauty on all its banks, for these now eighteen hundred 
and thirty-seven years, — Oh ! that stream best can tell what 
angel that was whose power divine first unsealed its foun- 
tain, and has ever since fed it so copiously ; I will not tell, 
lest my account of it should obscure its glory, I would 
only show and revert to what I have before spoken of, — that 
it is on the banks of this stream, beneath the umbrage of 
this river, and not on any merely local or historical rills of 
fabled or prosaic deeds of the nation, achieved long since, or 
in '76, that must start into existence the spirit of American 
poetr}^ and American eloquence, or American liberal art ; 
for that poetry, that eloquence, that art, in order to be any- 
thing, to be new, to be original, to belong to the continental 
and good civilization, must have issued and issue still from 
the same sources whence have come the laws, the consti- 
tutions, the freedom of the country. And I should be 
merely telling you a thousand-times-repeated truth to say 
that all these have come from the influence and genius and 
energy of the Christian faith. 

But poetry, to be poetry suited to the new civilization, 
must lay aside her cow-hells^ her jingling rhymes, and talk 
no more about chivalry and kings, or sing of battles and 
butcheries, and animal things, but she must appeal to higher 
standards, and try whether or not she might not catch 
inspiration, even the inspiration of a truer melody, from 
truth herself, surely not unfit to take the place, and fill it 
well, even of all the nine muses ; and so I think must it be 



LECTURE XII. 333 

also in regard to all the other liberal arts. They must 
cease, all of thera, to embody delusions ; they also mast 
catch the inspiration of the new epoch, and seek for truth 
and certitude. If these both are not to be found in nature 
and Christianity, and em^obed in vestments of beauty too, 
fit to strike and captivate the heart, it is because mankind 
have not yet discovered the art of finding them. And here 
now, therefore, I will retract some regret I expressed in the 
first part of this lecture. I said, as I looked back upon the 
past ages, and that infantile and tender species of civilization 
"which the rude history of most European nations show, 
and called up to memory the more pleasing illusions con- 
nected with it, that I felt some regret and sorrow to abandon 
them, — these idols, about which the affections have clung, — 
and to enter on that new career of truth and certain reve- 
lation which is now opening on the world. 

But I now fling all such regrets aside ; for the voice of 
truth and nature, if we once could hear it, must surely be 
more pleasing than all other sounds, and no music can equal 
hers, and no art surpass the art of justly expressing her; 
and if at first we should not think so, but still the strains 
of delusion should fall more seraphic on the ear, and the 
idols of the fancy be more bewitching to the eye, it can 
only be because our eye and ear are both misled, have both 
been corrupted, by what is false and hollow and deceptive. 
In fact, we may regard this period in which we live as both 
peculiarly fortunate and unfortunate. It is fortunate for 
mankind and succeeding generations, as they will enter on a 
career less impeded and embarrassed by former errors, less 
disposed to look at religion through its sects, at govern- 
ment through factions, at nature through theories, and at 
thoughts through words; but will have entered into closer 
communion with God, and their country, and nature, and 
mind ; it will be therefore so far more fortunate for them. 
Eut for us it is less so, for we have been educated in a great 



334 NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 

measure under a burden of prejudices, which our affec- 
tions cling to, even after our reason has rejected them, so 
that what we would we do not, and that which we would 
not we do. 

But we shall soon leave the stage ; we shall soon have 
eaten, and drunk, and lived our full ; and with cheerfulness 
and contentment will leave to our posterity that legacy 
which we ourselves have inherited, for thus it is designed 
to pass from hand to hand ; and happy is that nation, happy 
that people, who have transmitted it unimpaired to those 
who succeed, — happier still when adorned and improved 
by new lights derived from the God of nature and the Lord 
of the Christian religion. It is a fixed law of the life of 
man that he is born into this world to be educated himself, 
and it seems also to be a design of nature (although some- 
times thwarted for wise ends) that he should also live till 
his youngest child shall come of age. This is that fixed 
bourne for all that live,— the three-score^ or the three-score 
and ten. He that has reached it may resign his life with 
cheerfulness into the hands of his Creator ; he has fulfilled 
his natural destiny, for thus closes very beautifully and 
naturally the last chapter of the physical history of 
man as an individual ; the progress of the race is not 
retarded. 

Whether this also, phj^sically speaking, has a certain 
period of ultimate perfection, beyond which physically it 
may not proceed, and whether or not it may be designed to 
remain there in a certain youthful maturity, neither re- 
ceding nor advancing, on this side of the goal of nature, — 
whether this may be so, or whether even races and nations 
of mankind have a certain limited career to run, when 
failure and fading and even ultimate evanishment may 
await them, to give place to other races and nations, to 
instate original and new truths, the viceregents of Deity in 
the world of nature,— to glorify his name forever, through 



LECTURE XII. 335 

endless successions of generations and races of men, each 
adding new illustrations to the train of his visible acts of 
goodness and of wisdom, — these, I say, and a thousand 
other questions, are problems which we have not a glim- 
mering of light to solve, and it were even impious to try at 
the solution of them. Enough for us to know that, when 
the last chapter of the natural history of man is closed, 
a new chapter of a spiritual is discovered, — the book is 
opened, — even the book of life, — the second birth of heaven 

and earth : 

Awakening nature hears 
The new creating word, — and starts to life 
In every heightened form, from pain and death 
Forever free, 

I return my thanks to those who have honored these 
lectures by their attendance ; I regret they have been so 
little worthy of such attention. Whatever light or truth 
has been visible in any of them I ascribe to the fountain 
itself of truth and illumination, — the Christian religion 
and Him who is its Author. 



THE END. 



s^^r 



